


Gloriana.

by steeleye



Series: After The First Won. [9]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Monty Python - Fandom, Robin Hood (Traditional)
Genre: Gen, Humour, action adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeleye/pseuds/steeleye
Summary: The First won and the world is teetering on the edge of an abyss, about to be cast into chaos. While inspecting an ancient stone circle, Giles is cast into a future that looks more like the past. What new horrors await him in this strange new world?
Series: After The First Won. [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556119





	1. Chapter 1

Gloriana.  
By Steeleye.

.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Robin Hood, Monty Python or anything that you might recognise as not being original. I write these stories for fun not profit.

 **Crossover:** Multiple crossovers, mostly, Robin Hood, Monty Python, English History and music.

**Spelling, Punctuation, and Grammar: Written in glorious UK-English (the original and best) which is different to US-English.**

****Timeline:** An ‘After the First Won’ story.**

****Words:** Nineteen Chapters of 2500-3000 words each.**

****Warnings:** Nothing unusual, just the same old death, destruction, harsh language, girl on girl action...really nothing you wouldn't see on the average cop show!**

****Summary:** The First won and the world is teetering on the edge of an abyss, about to be cast into chaos. While inspecting an ancient stone circle, Giles is cast into a future that looks more like the past. What new horrors await him in this strange new world?**

****

0=0=0=0

_The most interesting thing about Queen Diana the First was, that she was five-foot-six inches tall at the start of her reign, but only four-foot-eight-inches tall at the end of it,  
because of..._

**Southern England, June, 2004.**

To tell the truth, Giles was glad to be out of London. At this time of year the great city was hot, sticky and full of tourists. The American tourists were the worst, it seemed that every time he saw or heard a group of American students milling around a famous London landmark he'd imagine that he saw Buffy, or Dawn, or Xander, or Faith. He'd stare for a moment before he realised that it wasn't them, it could never be them.

Buffy had died in the caverns under Sunnydale high school, Faith had disappeared (and was most probably dead) when Los Angeles went up in flames. The car Dawn and Xander had been using to escape Sunnydale had been found with its nose buried in a sink-hole on one of the roads leading west out of town. Of all the 'Scoobies', as his little band of helpers had called themselves, only Willow was still alive and she was living with her girlfriend, a young slayer called Kennedy, at her girlfriend's family home in the Hamptons. So, yes, Giles was glad to be out of London where he wouldn't be haunted by the ghosts of his lost 'children'.

His mission today was to drive down to the 'New Forest' in Hampshire. Once in the National Park he was to try and find the ancient, pre-historic stone circle of 'Ringstone Round'; where, according to legend, 'if you lost your hat it would be never be found'. There was even an old children's rhyme about it...

_Huffity, puffity, Ringstone Round,  
If you lose your hat it will never be found,   
So pull your britches right up to your chin,   
And fasten your cloak with a bright new pin,   
And when you are ready, then we can begin,   
Huffity, puffity, puff!_

Putting stories of hat stealing ancient monuments to one side, Giles was also going to check whether the old ring of stones was a portal. If it was a portal he then needed to discover if it was capable of being used by The First and his minions, or if it was something he and the British slayers could use against him. Of course he could have sent a couple of slayers to check the place out, but he really wanted to get out of London just now. Life had been getting pretty hectic lately and he could do with a short break, even if it was a working break...and of course there were all those ghosts.

“So,” asked the young woman driving the car down the M3 towards Southampton, “why do they call it the _New_ Forest? I mean,” the young woman continued as she smoothly over took a lorry which was probably heading for the docks in Southampton, “my mum and dad took me on an outing there when I was about twelve,” she smiled at the memory, “and I hated every minute of it. Anyway I don't remember it as being particularly _new_ even then.”

Tracy Flint, Giles' driver, had been a policewoman before Willow's spell had changed her into a slayer back in '03; she now worked for the 'Provisional Watcher's Council' as Giles' body guard, driver and general helper. Tracy was a tall, slim, attractive young woman of Afro-Caribbean descent in her late twenties. Before she'd been changed she'd had a career and had been going places she'd already passed her sergeant's examine in the Met Police. Now of course her career in the police force was behind her. The only place she was likely to go now, was to a too early death in some, dark, smelly back alley somewhere.

“Ah yes,” Giles replied giving himself a moment to think, “the New Forest...

“You know,” Tracy glanced at him and flashed him one of her bright, toothy, smiles, “I know that you're only stalling while you try to think of an answer.”

“You know me so well,” Giles replied dryly.

“Nah,” Tracy chuckled as her eyes went back to watching the road, “I've been taught how to interrogate suspects,” she looked at him again, this time with a faux scowl on her face, “Like I'll know if you're lying to me!” her frown quickly turned back into a grin.

“Alright its a fair cop, Gov!” Giles joked, “I'll come clean.”

“I'm hardly a _fair_ cop,” Tracy punned before letting Giles answer her original question.

“Right you are then,” Giles drew in a deep breath before starting to explain, “The New Forest was created as a royal forest by William the First, who, some called 'The Bastard'” he quoted, “and others called 'The Conqueror out of fear'.”

“Oh come on Mr Giles,” Tracy laughed, “say what you really mean, stop pussyfooting around the subject, spit it out why don't you?”

“Anyway,” glancing at Tracy he made one of his patent 'annoyed clucking' sounds, “in about 1079 he cleared the area for the royal hunt, mainly deer and boar in this area. The land was cleared at the expense of more than 20 small hamlets and isolated farmsteads; hence it was 'new' in his time as a single wooded area.”

“And I'm betting he didn't get planning permission, either,” Tracy joked.

“No,” Giles shook his head before going on with his little lecture, “the forest was first recorded as the 'Nova Foresta' in 'The Domesday Book' in 1086. There's a section devoted to it between the lands of the king's thegns and the town of Southampton; it's the only forest that the book describes in detail.” Giles paused for a moment to gather his thoughts and to check that his audience hadn't fallen asleep at the wheel, “Probably no action of the early Norman kings is more notorious than their creation of the New Forest,” Giles continued, “Twelfth-century chroniclers alleged that William had created the forest by evicting the inhabitants of 36 parishes and reducing a flourishing district to a wasteland; however, this account is thought dubious by more recent historians. The poor soil in much of the Forest is believed to have been incapable of supporting large-scale agriculture and significant areas appear to have always been uninhabited.”

“Wow,” Tracy observed.

“Wow, indeed;” Giles nodded, “finally, two of William's sons died in the Forest; Prince Richard in 1081 and King William Rufus, that's William the Second in 1100. The death of Prince Richard was most probably a simple hunting accident, but the death of William Rufus was much more likely to have been an assassination. Local folklore asserts that the deaths of 'The Bastard's' children was punishment for the crimes committed by William the First when he created his New Forest.”

“Hey,” Tracy smiled, “you really know your stuff, don't you?”

“I try to be the font of all wisdom,” Giles admitted tongue in cheek.

“Whatever,” Tracy shrugged, “I always liked history, all those kings and lords stabbing each other in the back an' all those battles...” Tracy sighed deeply at the thought of a world that was lost to her, “...but it was always so badly taught at school,” she sniffed in disgust, “Stupid questions about how it 'felt' to be a Roman soldier or something...nothing to do with actual history...”

“Indeed,” Giles interrupted before Tracy could get started on her well known rant about how badly taught school history lessons were, “I believe we're coming up to the turn off for Lyndhurst.”

“Can't miss it Mr G,” Tracy explained, “its the junction where the M27 turns into the A31.”

“I'm glad one of us knows where we're going,” Giles pointed out.

Lyndhurst was a market town in the northern half of the forest; four major roads and several minor ones lead out of it and into the surrounding woods. It was also a good point from which they could start their search for Ringstone Round. The trip from the motorway to Lyndhurst only took about ten minutes and as it was nearly midday, they stopped off at the White Hart Inn on the southern edge of the town for lunch. After a good meal (Giles also had a pint of the locally brewed ale, while Tracy had to made do with Diet Coke) they started out again this time following the narrow country lanes south and west of the town.

“Ah! Here it is,” Giles pointed to his ordinance survey map as he spoke, “according to this the 'Round' is a couple of miles down this lane.”

Tracy looked at the lane dubiously, it wasn't very much wider than their car.

“I just hope we don't meet a farmer and his tractor coming the other way,” Tracy said as she turned off the 'main' road and headed on down the narrow, country lane. 

The sides of the lane had high, thick, hedges and were over hung by trees, it was dark, cool and very green as they headed deeper into the forest. Unfortunately, all this natural beauty didn't stop Tracy thinking about the consequences of hitting a fast moving tractor head on.

“Hey, aren't there ponies here too?” Tracy asked after seeing a warning sign with a galloping horse on it and thinking that a pony was something else that they shouldn't collide with.

“Yes,” Giles nodded as he fought to fold away his map, “the famous New Forest Ponies...” The map, seemingly endowed with a life of its own, fought back manfully (or perhaps 'mapfully') until Giles managed to fold it into submission and put it away and into the map pocket of the passenger's door. “Here we are,” they'd just driven out into a more open area where you could see under the trees fairly easily; Giles pointed to an English Heritage signpost pointing the way to the ancient monument, “I think we've arrived.”

Turning the car off the lane, Tracy pulled up under the trees and onto a small parking area set up for visitors to the stone circle. The brown and white sign indicated that the circle was only a few minutes walk further into the forest.

“Should I bring weapons?” Tracy asked as they sat in the car watching the silent woods for a moment.

“It's up to you,” Giles pointed out, “do you feel the need to bring weapons?”

“Hmmm...” Tracy hesitated for a moment, “...perhaps something small and sharp.”

After opening the car doors, Giles and Tracy stepped out in to the cool, fresh air of the forest. Giles couldn't help thinking that this was so much nicer than being in London just now. Although he normally enjoyed living in the city, sometimes it was nice to come out into the country for a few days. While Tracy was collecting something 'small and sharp' from the car's boot, Giles stood for a moment soaking up the nature and fresh air. In this part of the forest the trees were widely spaced allowing grass, flowers and even small bushes to grow on the forest floor. In the trees he could hear birds singing as small, furry, woodland creatures scurried across the leaf litter under the trees no doubt angry that their forest home had been invaded by noisy humans.

“Ready!”

Giles turned to see Tracy standing grinning at him, she clutched a broadsword in her hand.

“I thought you said you were going for something small and sharp,” he pointed out.

“Big 'n' sharp is better,” Tracy flourished her sword coming close enough to cut off Giles' ears as she did so.

“And what will people say if they see you with that thing?” Giles replied seemingly unimpressed by Tracy's display of swordswomanship. 

“They'll think I'm some sort of Viking re-enacter or something...”

“Or something...” Giles gave Tracy a bemused look, “...as far as I can remember there were no Afro-Caribbean Vikings.”

“Whatever,” Tracy shrugged, “y'know Mr G sometimes you're no fun at all...”

“So I've been reliably informed,” just now Tracy was looking at him in exactly the same way Buffy had used to look at him when she thought he was spoiling her fun, he felt his eyes start to burn so he turned away and looked along the path towards The Round. “Come on,” he said leading the way, “once we've finished here we can drive back to London and I'll explain all about Vikings to you.”

“Oh joy!” Tracy replied, once again unknowingly sounding just like Buffy had once sounded.

0=0=0=0

Ringstone Round was situated in a clearing surrounded by tall, ancient trees, some of which must have been growing there for hundreds of years. According to the guidebook, Giles had bought in Lyndhurst, Ringstone Round was at least four-thousand years old, possibly older. It had been built before the Celts had come to Britain and had served the religious needs of people until the Christians had arrived and claimed it was a work of the devil before trying to destroy the site. The stones had resisted the best efforts of those past Christians, remembered only by a few old women and teenage girls who used the spot for their late night, pagan rituals. 

“So this is it?” Tracy asked as she walked over to one of the great, grey, moss covered upright stones and ran her hand across its rough surface, “To be honest I'm not impressed, I was expecting something like Stonehenge.”

“No,” Giles pulled the rucksack he'd been carrying from his back and took a heavy leather bound book from its interior, “this is just an old stone circle, I expect any mystical energy it once contained has long gone...”

“Shhh!” Tracy said sharply as she put her finger to her lips, “Listen...”

“What?” Giles listened intently as he searched between the trees for whatever Tracy had heard, “I don't hear anything...”

“Precisely,” Tracy said almost too quietly for him to hear, “listen, there's nothing, no bird song, nothing...”

“Oh poppy-cock,” Giles dismissed Tracy's misgivings with a wave of his hand, “I expect the sound of us tramping through the undergrowth like a herd of elephants has scared all the birds away.”

“Whatever,” Tracy shrugged once more, “but, scary, right?” Tracy grinned like a heavily armed twelve year old.

“Yes if you insist...” Giles agreed reluctantly as he searched through his back pack for his measuring tape, “...oh damn-it!”

“What's up?” Tracy walked over to stand next to Giles as he searched in his bag and came up empty, “I must have left it in the car...”

“Left what?”

“My measuring tape...”

“A measuring tape?” Tracy asked, “Want me to go look?”

“If you would,” Giles replied thankful at not having to walk back to the car and then return to The Round.

“Okay,” Tracy started to head for the path that would lead her back to the car, “now, don't be wondering off or getting captured by The First's minions...”

“Look, I'm not ten and I'm also not senile,” Giles called back.

“Well, don't come crying to me if The First has you killed while I'm not here to protect you,” Tracy called over her shoulder as she disappeared along the track and between the trees.

While Tracy was looking for his tape, Giles decided not to waste any more time and started to take some notes. Measuring the place would have to wait until Tracy got back as would the little magic ceremony he'd have to do to ascertain whether the circle had any power left after all these centuries. Working quietly by himself, Giles didn't notice that the birds had come back until he stopped taking notes and checked his watch.

“Damn!” he said under his breath, “Bloody things stopped,” which was odd because it was battery powered.

It was only then that he noticed that the sun had moved and it now looked as if it was late afternoon. Thinking he must have become very involved with his work it took him a moment or two to realise that Tracy hadn't returned with his tape.

“Damn-it all Tracy,” Giles muttered as he collected up his books and notes and stuffed them back into his bag, “Now where have you got to?”

Slightly too annoyed to worry that anything underhand or unusual might have happened. Giles told himself that he'd probably find Tracy sitting in the car listening to the radio or something. He pushed himself through the bushes growing next to the path and back towards where they'd left the car. Only when he got back to the spot where he was sure they'd parked the car, there was no car. There was no Tracy and if he wasn't very much mistaken there wasn't even a parking area.

0=0=0=0

*: Highlight and right click to play...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUQ5QVLffBc


	2. Chapter 2

**The New Forest.**

Standing alone in the woods, Giles felt like a fool. Evidently what had happened, he told himself, was that he'd got himself turned around somehow and he'd taken the wrong path. Yes, that was what must have happened, the trees in this part of the forest were bigger than the ones he remembered around the parking area, so, he'd obviously taken a wrong turn somewhere. Right at this moment Tracy was probably searching for him no doubt thinking that he was an old fool and had gone and got himself lost.

“TRACY!” Giles yelled as loudly as he could, but there was no answer.

Thinking that shouting at the top of his voice might not be the wisest thing to do; after all some of The First's minions might actually be out there looking for him, he decided to retrace his steps to the stone circle and find the right path back to the car park. Muttering under his breath that going outside of London had been a foolish idea and that in future if there were things that needed doing in the countryside he'd send some slayers, he walked on. After a moment or two, Giles had retraced his footsteps until he was back at the stone circle. Standing in the middle of the circle he looked around to get his bearing.

There were a total of twenty-four stones set in a wide circle with perhaps six to eight feet between each stone. The stone at the north end of the circle was significantly larger than the others. Standing there facing the 'north stone', Giles looked to his right. Yes! He congratulated himself, there was the stone that looked like a hunched over old witch, if hunched over old witches were eight or nine feet tall and made out of granite. Now, if he remembered correctly the path lay between the 'witch stone' and the stone immediately to its right. Walking over to the gap between the two stones, Giles saw no sign of a path, just his own footprints in the grass where he'd headed off into the woods.

“Odd...” he mused before plunging into the trees once again.

Although there wasn't a real path there was a suggestion of a path, like there'd been a path here once but it had become overgrown after not being used for a very long time. A cold chill made its way down the length of Giles' spine. This just didn't feel right to him and he began to think that something more unusual than him losing his way had happened here. He knew all about multidimensional portals, he'd warned Willow not to play around with them often enough, he'd even seen a few in his time as a watcher.

Next he asked himself, what if there was still enough mystical energy left in the stone circle for it to act as a gateway to another world or another time? Stopping he looked around himself. Although the trees here abouts were bigger than he remembered so they cut out more light preventing grass and flowers from growing under them, he saw no plant life that he didn't recognise. There were certainly no man-eating plants walking about anywhere at least not in this part of the forest. That left the possibility that he'd been misplaced in time. The idea of being thrown forward in time worried him more than finding himself in the past. He knew about the past, the future was much more uncertain. Lastly the idea struck him that he might be in some alternative version of his own reality.

Sighing heavily, Giles decided not to worry too much where he actually was in space and time and concentrate, for the time being, on getting out of the forest and back to civilisation. A dark little voice at the back of his mind asked him what he'd do it there was no civilisation to get back to? Thrusting these disquieting thoughts to one side, Giles strode on between the trees until he found himself back at the point which should contain Tracy and the car.

“Bugger,” Giles breathed quietly when he found no trace of slayer, car or car park.

Alright, he told himself, something very odd had happened which didn't change the fact that he was alone and under equipped in one of the last areas of wild woodland in England. Also night was falling and it was turning unseasonably chilly. Working outwards in a circular search pattern, Giles studied the ground looking for clues, what sort of clues he didn't know but there had to be something around that would indicate which way he was supposed to go. For a moment he paused in his search as a frightening thought exploded onto his consciousness; what would he do if he found Tracy's remains still clutching that sword of hers?

Shaking his head at his own foolish imaginings, Giles continued with his search. Although he didn't find Tracy's bleached bones or the rusting hulk of the car, he did find what could have been the track they'd driven down to get to the stone circle. Heading off along the track in the direction he was sure was the right one, Giles walked hopefully to where he thought he might find the country lane. From there he'd be able to make his way to the main road, and from there...well he'd see. But, it was definitely getting late and he had no wish to spend the night under the stars.

As he walked, Giles cursed himself as a fool. Why hadn't he taken more notice of the countryside as they'd passed through it? He'd been so busy looking at his map or thinking about the measurements he needed to take at the circle that he'd not actually looked to see where he was going. Mental note to self; he told himself sharply, spend more time looking out the window rather than keeping his head stuck inside a book.

Fifteen minutes walk later and Giles was once again looking for the lane he and Tracy had driven down less than two hours ago. At first he saw nothing where he thought the lane should be. However, after another twenty paces or so he found what was definitely a farm track. The track was wider than he remembered the lane had been; it was also muddy and unsurfaced, unlike the well made lane with its tarmac surface, high hedges and grassy banks. Here there was no sign of a hedge and as for grass, well, the trees over hung the track casting shadows that prevented anything like grass from growing. He'd told himself there was no sign of a hedge, but... If he stood to one side of the track he could just make out the ragged line of thorn trees that might once have been a hedge. Yes, there were great gaps in the line of small trees, but that wasn't the point; the survivors grew in a line and nature abhorred straight lines. 

“Right!” Giles said to himself as he stood in the middle of the track, “Something very strange has happened, so I suppose I better find out what it is...”

Pulling back his shoulders and making sure that his rucksack was firmly and comfortably on his back, Giles marched off down the track.

0=0=0=0

Having walked for at least an hour, Giles stopped for a rest. In the time he'd been marching he'd seen no sign of human habitation, which was again very odd. There were very few places in the British Isles that you could walk for an hour and not see a deserted barn or an isolated farm house, or even a town or village in the distance. Apart from the track he'd seen nothing. Another worrying thing was it was getting very dark under the trees which seemed to suggest that it was later than he'd thought it was and night was rapidly falling. If that was so, he really needed to find somewhere to spend the night and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was going to have to spend the night under the trees. He'd need to look for a camp site before it got too dark for him to see.

With a heavy sigh, Giles struck off the track and made his was between the trees all the time looking for a good camping spot. One of the oddest things he'd ever done during his training as a watcher was to spend a week learning 'Wilderness Survival Techniques'. He and a dozen or so of his fellow trainee watchers had been dispatched to the Black Mountains which were on the Welsh side of the border from Hereford in England. The Black Mountains and surrounding areas where both bleak and picturesque in equal measure. They were also windswept and rain swept and bare of almost all signs of human civilisation. Just to rub it in about how uncomfortable you were sitting on top of these mountains, if you looked east into England at night you could see the lights of towns and villages spread out before you.

To add icing to this cake of misery, Giles and his fellow trainees had to put up with the sadistic ministrations on Taffy Jones, who in an earlier incarnation had been thrown out of the Waffen SS for cruelty. The truth was he'd spent many a long year in the Royal Marine's Mountain and Arctic Warfare Cadre. 'Taffy' seemed to delight in making the trainee watcher's lives a misery ensuring that they spent most of the week, cold, wet, hungry and exhausted. Eventually after a week of pure wretchedness, that seemed more like a lifetime than a mere seven days, each of the students (the ones who hadn't been taken to hospital with hypothermia or a bad case of 'death') were given a certificate and then told in no uncertain terms to 'piss off'. Which Giles had, going to the nearest hotel were he'd had a hot bath and had spent the next few days doing little more than eating and sleeping. After that Giles did his best to forget the entire experience, this was pretty easy as he never had to use any of the 'skills' he'd learnt ever again; not even when he'd taken Buffy out to the desert on her 'Vision Quest'.

Now he was wishing he'd paid more attention to Taffy Jones and maybe kept up to date with his outdoor skills. Although he knew there were priorities for survival he couldn't quite remember what they were just now. However, he was pretty sure that water and shelter were near the top of the list. You needed water because although the human body could survive without food for some time, you'd be dead in a couple of days with no water. Shelter was important to keep out of the rain, getting wet and cold would kill you just as surely as dying of thirst. Too many people didn't realise that the countryside, even in places like Britain, could kill you stone dead in a few hours. The changeable weather you got in Britain ensured that if you started out in bright sunshine you were as likely to finish the day in pouring rain and gales as not. Of course it wasn't so bad in the south of the country as it was in the north, but it was still something you needed to be aware of.

Finding a good thick bush to hide under, Giles took off his pack and sat down, it was time to see what resources he had. Emptying his rucksack and pockets he looked at his meagre supplies in despair. He didn't smoke so he had no matches or lighter with which to light a fire. He did have a nineteenth century book on the Stone Circles of Old England, which he supposed he could have used the pages for kindling if he'd had either some matches or a lighter.

On the plus side he did have a nylon waterproof jacket and a good penknife. But apart from a Mars bar he had no food and even less water. Sitting under his bush, Giles resigned himself to spending a cold uncomfortable night in the woods. It was too late now to go in search of a stream so he steeled himself to going without water for the time being while telling himself that water was his number one priority for the next day. Pulling his nylon jacket around himself as darkness fell, Giles curled up under his bush and tried to get some sleep.

0=0=0=0

After a night spent sleeping fitfully on the cold, hard ground, Giles woke up and stretched stiff muscles and aching bones while telling himself he was too old to be camping out under the trees. After going behind a tree to relieve himself which in turn served to remind him just how thirsty and hungry he was. This made him think about the Mars bar in the pocket of his rucksack, he told himself not to eat it just yet, not until he'd found water as the chocolate would only make him even more thirsty. After collecting his scant belongings together and stuffing them into his rucksack he heaved it up onto his shoulder. It was only as he was about to start out on his trek again that it dawned on him that he'd lost sight of which direction the track he'd been following was.

“Oh, bloody clever Giles,” he told himself angrily, before striking off in a random direction through the trees.

He'd only walked for about five minutes when he got his first and so far only piece of good luck; however, even this almost killed him. He'd been walking along too intent on searching between the trees for signs of life when he'd stumbled into a gully. The gully was about ten feet deep and full of stones and stunted bushes. Bouncing and rolling down the bank Giles only just managed to prevent himself from breaking his neck and falling into the stream at the bottom of the gully. Sitting up on the bank of the stream, Giles rubbed at his bruised and battered hide before he realised he'd spent the night only five minutes away from a water supply.

The stream appeared crystal clear, but Giles told himself that with his luck it would probably be crystal clear acid. However, after only a moment's hesitation he dipped his hand into the water and tasted it. It tasted fresh so he got down on his knees next to the stream, cupped his hands and drank thirstily. He'd worry about dying from any exotic water-borne diseases later. After drinking his fill, Giles ate his Mars bar, the sudden input of sugar gave him a burst of energy. Feeling a lot better than he had only ten minutes ago and with only minor cuts and bruises, Giles polished his glasses for the first time in what felt like ages and climbed out of the gully. Heading off on his trek once again he almost felt cheerful.

0=0=0=0

It must have been nearly midday when Giles heard children's voices in the distance. Changing the direction of his march he followed the noise until he came to the edge of a meadow. Running around the field in front of him were about twenty or thirty children ranging in ages from around nine to twelve, they were all involved in a rather boisterous game of football. Giles was no expert on children (or indeed football) so he wasn't very good a guessing ages. More importantly, he also saw a track on the other side of the meadow that appeared to head off behind some trees. Smoke drifted lazily into the sky from behind the trees, cheering internally Giles realised he'd found a village or maybe even a small town. Just as he was about to walk out of the woods and into the meadow, he noticed something odd about the children.

Looking closely he noticed that they were all girls, their long hair and high pitched voices sort of gave it away. Standing there he also notice that while some of the girls were wearing knee breeches, others were wearing skirts that reached to about mid calf, not a fashion he'd noticed before. Perhaps he'd come across a girl's prep school, maybe one of those strange Bohemian places that let their pupils run riot. Whatever, he told himself, standing skulking in the trees wasn't going to get him anywhere.

Stepping out into the open, Giles made his way towards where the girls played their game. As he walked he remembered his own school days. Of course back then it would have been unheard of for girls to play football, football had been a full contact game for boys in those days, too rough and too muddy for girls to play. However, as he got closer he noticed that these girls didn't seem to mind if they got a bloody knee or if their clothes got muddy; no doubt their mothers would give them what for when they got home.

“I say, children!” Giles called out as he got within twenty feet or so of the match; at first the girls didn't seem to notice him, but then one girl spotted him and pointed as she cried out in alarm, at this the others turned to look at him until all the girls were staring at him in wide eyed confusion. “I say...” Giles continued, “...I wonder if you could...” he didn't get to finish his question because all the girls screamed and ran off in the direction of the track, “How odd...” Giles observed to himself before following the girls.

0=0=0=0


	3. Chapter 3

**The New Forest.**

“I say...” Giles called again, “...I wonder if you could tell me...” he didn't get to finish his question because all the girls screamed and ran off in the direction of the track, “How odd...” he observed to himself before following the girls.

Pausing as he walked across the meadow where the girls had been playing, Giles stooped to pick up the football. Standing there in the empty field he absently examined the ball for a moment or two. It seemed like a perfectly normal leather football, a little smaller than the ones he'd played with at school and perhaps a little more 'homemade' looking than most he'd seen. But, it was still a perfectly ordinary looking football, so, why was he frowning at it? The thought did cross his mind that children these days tended to use plastic ones and the ball he was holding wasn't covered in promotional logos so...

Shrugging he tucked the ball under his arm and headed off in the same direction the girls had taken. At this point, however, another question presented itself to his mind for consideration; why had the girls run off like that? While he was all for parents telling their children not to 'talk to strangers' and after a night under the trees he probably did looked a little more like a tramp than was normal for him. But, the girls had run off with real fear in their eyes and voices, surely he couldn't present such a terrible sight as all that...could he?

Without really noticing how he'd come to be there, Giles found himself on the track that led behind the trees he'd spotted earlier and down which the children had run in panic. It was muddy, but not too muddy as there hadn't been any heavy rain recently, it also showed signs of heavy use. The track was heavily rutted and there appeared to be wagon and horse tracks in the soft earth, while at the same time there weren't any signs of tire tracks. Shrugging once again, Giles wondered if he might have stumbled onto some sort of commune that had fore sworn all modern day conveniences like tractors and plastic footballs. Continuing along the track, Giles quickly came upon a genuine, roses around the door cottage, its walls were painted white while all the woodwork was black plus it sported a thatched roof and smoke drifted lazily from its two chimneys. However, what caught Giles' eye most was that just at the moment, a middle aged woman dressed in a long skirted, grey dress was herding half a dozen frightened children into the cottage.

“I say...madam!” Giles called in his most friendly of tones, “I wonder if you...”

The woman turned to face him; her eyes went wide with horror and fear as her hands flew up to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the shriek that escaped her lips.

“Lorks!” she cried out before turning and literally pushing the last two children through the door to her cottage, following the girls she slammed the heavy wooden door behind her. 

Even as he stood looking on he could hear bolts being pushed into place. Not wishing upset the frightened inhabitants any more than they already were, Giles continued on along the track.

“I know what this is,” Giles told himself, “I've found some sort of feminist farming commune...”

The first cottage he came to must have been slightly isolated from the rest of the community because he had to walk about fifty yards further down the track and go around another stand of trees before he came to the village proper. Standing where the track split in two to go around the village green, he stared in amazement at what looked to him like a perfectly preserved Tudor village. There were more white painted cottages each set in its own little plot of land or garden. At the far end of the green he could see a church, which looked a little odd to him but the designs of village churches tended to be many and various, the church also appeared to be the only building made of stone. Closer at hand he could see a couple of black and white cows cropping the lush grass of the green, there was also what looked like a maypole and a set of well used stocks.

“This is all very interesting,” Giles commented to himself, “but where are all the people?”

Although there were the two cows and now he looked more carefully he could see a few chickens scratching about on the road side and even a couple of house cats sunning themselves as they lay on top of garden walls, he couldn't see any actual people. It was then that he noticed the inn; it was really just a much larger version of the cottages that surrounded the green, but long familiarity with country pubs told Giles that if there were people around they'd be in the pub. Walking boldly across the green and stepping around the cow-pats, Giles approached the pub thinking that a pint of the local ale would go down nicely as would a good meal.

Having crossed the green he was now half way across the track in front of the pub; it was then that Giles suddenly found himself confronted by half a dozen villagers, each of whom was clutching a quarterstaff. Brought up short by the appearance of this 'welcoming committee', Giles didn't at first realise that they were all women. True most of them wore the same sort of britches that he'd seen the footballing children wearing, but two were wearing long skirts or dresses. The historian part of Giles' mind told him that the clothes these women were wearing appeared very similar to Elizabethan or Stewart period clothing. The colours were about right too, various shades of grey, green and russet.

“You stay where ye be, Guy,” called one of the women, she had to be the leader of the group; she turned to to speak to one of her confederates. “Go find Ethel an' tell 'er to come quick an' bring some chains...”

“I say, madam,” Giles said a little more sharply than he'd intended, he was getting fed up of people acting as if he was some kind of monster, “I assure you that chains will not be necessary I simply...”

“'E speaks!” cried one of the women as she clutched her quarterstaff more tightly and took a step away from Giles.

“Tis the work of The First!” cried another, “A Guy that speaks!”

“And my name's not 'Guy'!” Giles added indignantly.

“AAAGH!” Cried the women as they collectively took yet another step away from Giles.

“Call the Parson!” cried one.

“Call the Constable!” said another.

“Call the Midwife!” suggested a third only to have her friends frown at her in confusion, “Sorry,” she shrugged, “I panicked.”

“Lets get 'im!” recommended a forth.

“Aye!” chorused the group as they started towards Giles with murder in their eyes.

“Ladies!” Giles cried, it was now his turn to retreat from what had now become a small, but determined mob, “I must warn you that I'm a firm believer in women's liberation so I will defend myself to the best of my ability if I'm attacked.”

Despite all evidence to the contrary and after spending years training slayers and Buffy in particular, Giles was a formidable fighter. Plus, although these women looked strong and tough he was a man so he should have an advantage in strength. Dodging the first blow of a quarterstaff aimed at his head and dropping the football he'd still been carrying, Giles punched the wielder in the face. Blood exploded from her nose as she dropped her staff and sat down heavily in the middle of the track. Snatching up the woman's fallen quarterstaff Giles once again faced his attackers, even after his first warning he felt he should at least try to warn the rest of the group off before things got too far out of hand and someone really got hurt.

“Look...” Giles stepped back from the little mob, “...I really should warn you that...AAGH!”

Before he had a chance to finish what he was about to say, Giles found himself fending off heavy lumps of wood wielded by strong and angry women. Despite his reassertion that he was a fully paid up feminist he did in fact pull his blows when he counter-attacked. However, after he'd been hit on the shin for the second time he thought that it was time to teach these village roughs the consequences of equal rights. His staff blurred into motion as he laid on with a will, knocking his opponents out or off their feet. It only took him a moment or two to have his attackers hors de combat and sprawled out on the track around him.

“I say,” called another woman's voice; Giles turned to confront this newcomer, “what's going on here?”

Giles found himself confronted by yet another woman, but this one obviously wasn't a villager, she had more the look of a soldier or professional fighter. She was tall, at least a head taller than any of the villagers he'd seen so far; she was dressed in a leather jerkin over a white shirt (one of those ones with the puffy sleeves and lots of ruffles down the front and at the cuffs). Her russet coloured knee breeches where stuffed into the top of folded down riding boots. Her face had a cute collection of freckles which matched the main of red hair that framed her face like fire. On her left hip she carried what Giles recognised as a rapier while on her right hip there appeared to be a smaller version of her sword, a knife used to parry and block sword thrusts. The young woman regarded Giles with interest her right hand on the pommel of her dagger while her left held a tankard of ale.

“Well, well well,” she said slowly and with what appeared to be some amusement, “what _do_ we have here? A Guy that can not only talk, but can use weapons and even wear clothes.

“Once more, I'd like to point out that my name isn't 'Guy',” Giles advanced a step or two towards the red head, “and I take exception to being attacked without cause.”

It was beginning to dawn on Giles that there was something very wrong here. The loss of Tracy and the car, the changed forest, the village, the clothes everyone wore, the way they talked and last but not least the fact that so far the only people he'd seen were female. There was also the fact that in Britain, young women didn't normally feel the need to walk around with very business like looking swords on there hips. To him this all suggested that there was something drastically wrong with this picture.

“May I trouble you to tell me what year this is?” Giles asked as he placed one end of his staff on the ground and leaned against it.

“The year?” the young woman grinned as she sipped from her tankard, “The Guy wants to know what year it is...?”

“Once more my name is _not_ Guy!” Giles explained rather tartly, if people didn’t start answering his questions soon there was a danger tht he might get really annoyed.

“All men are called 'Guy',” the redhead informed him, “but if your name isn't Guy what is it then?”

“Giles,” Giles replied, “Rupert Giles...”

“Rupert Giles?” the young woman frowned as she put down her tankard on a handy piece of wall.

“Yes...” Giles nodded firmly, “...and who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” he asked with a certain amount of sarcasm.

“Eliz...erm...Bess,” the young woman seemed to have difficulty remembering her own name for a moment, “Bess Fairweather.”

“Well, Miss Fairweather,” Giles replied, “I'll trouble you to tell me what year this is.”

“The year?”

“Yes.”

“You really don't know?” Bess began before saying to herself, “He's an ignorant Guy why would he want to know what year this is?”

“Once again, I'm not 'Guy' and I think you'll discover I'm far from ignorant,” Giles pointed out.

“What!?” just at the moment Bess didn't look as if she knew whether to run, fight or answer Giles' question, after a moment's more thought she chose the less energetic of the three options. “This is the Year of our Lady 2688 CE...”

“When!?” Giles could hardly believe his ears, he'd expected to be told a year in the early 1600's but this was the future?

“Twenty-six-hundred-and-eighty-eight,” Bess spelled it out for him, “that's in the Common Era.”

“Bloody hell,” Giles gasped as he felt his legs start to go weak.

“Are you all right?” Bess asked as she took a step towards Giles, “You don't look very well.”

“I...I've had rather a bad shock and I've not eaten properly since yesterday,” Giles pointed out.

“Well,” Bess stepped over to Giles and held him up by grabbing him under the arm, “we can soon put that right,” she steered him between the groaning bodies of his earlier assailants and towards the door of the inn.

When Giles felt Bess take hold of his arm he'd noticed how strong she was, slayer strong, “You're a slayer aren't you?” he asked quietly as they entered the dark interior of the pub.

“Yes,” Bess replied in a whisper, “but I'd rather you didn't shout that from the roof tops...and you're more than a normal 'Guy' aren't you Rupert Giles?”

“I'd imagine I must be,” Giles agreed.

“Here,” Bess gestured to a window seat and table, “lets sit down,” she gave Giles a gentle push towards the seat before turning to yell for the 'landlord', “LANDLADY! Bring cheese, ham, bread and ale for me and my...” she hesitated for just a moment before saying, “...friend.”

Joining Giles at the table, Bess unbuckled her sword and dagger and placed them within easy reach on the rough wood before sitting down. Making herself comfortable she watched Giles closely for a moment or two.

“I'd wager that we both have tales to tell, Rupert Giles,” Bess said in a hushed voice, “shall I go first? I'm thinking that what I tell you might very well answer some of the questions that are no doubt bouncing around inside your head.”

“I wish you would...” before Giles could say anything more the Landlady turned up with the food and two tankards of foaming ale.

“I 'ope your Guy is 'ouse trained?” she asked as she put the food and drink on the table, “That'll be two-an'-six...”

Bess took a purse from a pocket in her leather jerkin and placed two shilling pieces and one sixpence into the landlady's outstretched hand.

“An' remember,” the woman warned as she slipped the coins into the pocket in her apron, “I've got a loaded blunderbuss be'ind the bar if there's any trouble.”

“There won't be any trouble,” Bess reassured the woman, “my 'Guy' is very well trained...”

Just then the mob from earlier came back into the pub, they didn't appear to want to continue the fight, but cast Giles and Bess dark looks as they rubbed at their injuries and limped over to a table by the unlit fire at the far end of the room. The landlady bustled away, her skirts swishing around her legs as she headed over to serve her regular customers. Picking up her tankard Bess took a long contemplative swig before she placed her beer mug back down on the table and looked carefully into Giles face, she noted the spectacles, and his, to her, odd clothes and came to some sort of decision.

“I wasn't always an itinerant soldier and slayer selling her sword to the highest bidder,” Bess began quietly, “I actually come from a good family, my mothers were...” she gave Giles a cheeky grin, “...lets just say they were 'well placed' amongst the 'powers' in the land.”

“But they fell on hard times?” Giles guessed as he tore off a lump of bread and cut some cheese and ham for himself with his penknife.

“Lets just say there was a family disagreement and I found I had to make my own way in the world,” Bess explained as she sliced off some ham and started to eat. “The thing is I was quite well educated and I enjoyed reading the old tales of the Time Before...”

“The Time Before?” Giles queried.

“The time before The First destroyed the world,” Bess explained, “As a little girl I loved reading about the tragic heroes of those long forgotten days...”

“Uh-huh,” Giles nodded as he sipped his beer, he was getting a very bad feeling about what Bess was going to say next.

“There was one name that stood out in those stories,” Bess continued, “a leader, a warrior, a teacher all in one...” she paused and smiled at Giles, “...and the name of this hero was, Rupert Giles...”

“Oh bloody hell,” Giles sighed quietly.

0=0=0=0


	4. Chapter 4

**Brockenhurst, Hampshire, 2688 CE.**

Waking up Giles couldn't at first remember where he was, but as he rolled over in the hay that made up his bed it all came flooding back to him. He was in the barn at the back of the pub. The Landlady won't let Bess Fairweather pay for a room for him or let her have him in her own room, no 'Guy' was going to sleep under her roof she'd declared firmly. So, he'd been exiled to the barn. But, it hadn't been so bad, he told himself as he sat up and put on his glasses. The straw was soft and warm and Bess had made sure the landlady had left him a couple of blankets. Considering how he'd spent the previous night, his stay in the barn was like a night at the Ritz.

Standing up he brushed pieces of straw from his clothes and hair and as he did so his hand felt the stubble growing from his chin, he'd need to shave soon or resign himself to growing a beard. After shaking the straw from his blankets and folding them up, Giles climbed down the ladder from the hay loft and started to wonder where the 'facilities' were. No sooner had he started his search than Bess turned up looking incredibly perky and healthy looking considering how much beer they'd both put away the previous afternoon and evening.

While they'd sat and drunk their ale, Bess had given Giles a little history lesson on what had happened in the last five or six-hundred years. Much to Giles dismay it appeared that everything he'd tried to do to stop The First had been futile. The First had won, not by sending armies of demons out across the world (well, at least not at first), no, he'd been much more subtle than that. To begin with he'd twisted people's minds (not that some people's minds had needed that much twisting) he'd set nation against nation and group against group. It was only when humanity had weakened itself in fruitless internecine wars that The First unleashed his demonic hordes.

Even then things didn't completely go the First's way. Humanity fought back and amongst the people that fought back had been the slayers. It was only when 'The Plague' swept across the world either killing or reducing the male half of the population to mindless animals did the First finally win; but even then the First actually lost. As soon as it looked like his armies were going to sweep humanity from the face of existence they'd started to fight amongst themselves over the spoils of victory. It had probably been this civil war between the demonic factions that had saved humanity.

As this demonic war raged, the First slowly lost his grip on all the lands and peoples he'd conquered and enslaved. Eventually even this war ended, due more to the exhaustion of the forces involved than because any one faction had gained the upper hand or tentacle. At this point the world finally descended into chaos (that even The First couldn't control) for at least a hundred years. Eventually the remnants of the human race rose up out of the ashes and began to throw off what remained of the First's control. It had taken nearly six hundred years (which was an indication of how bad things had become) but humanity, at least in this part of the world, had risen to a level not dissimilar from the Late Tudor/Early Stewart periods of the history Giles remembered.

What had confused Giles the most about Bess' story was his own part in it. From what he understood from the young woman's explanation, he'd mysteriously disappeared in 2004 when he'd been investigating Ringstone Round. The best theory that he could come up with was that the ancient circle had somehow sent him to this time. The question that weighed heavily on Giles' mind just at the moment was, why was he here? This sort of thing didn't usually happen by chance.

“Good morning Giles,” Bess called cheerily as she walked into the barn, “I hope you slept well?”

“Indeed I did,” Giles found himself smiling back at the young woman; today she wasn't wearing her leather jerkin over her shirt and from what Giles could make out, she wasn't wearing anything very much under her shirt either; he looked away so he wouldn't be distracted by her breasts as they bounced provocatively under her shirt whenever she moved. “Surprisingly well in fact, I've stopped at several hotels that had less comfortable beds.”

“Good, so you're well rested, I've work to do today,” Bess came to stand in front of Giles, “Breakfast?”

“Yes that would be nice,” Giles replied distractedly, his eyes straying to Bess' breasts even as he tried not to stare, “but first where are the...erm...facilities?”

“Facilities?” Bess gave him a puzzled look for a moment before her face broke into a bemused grin, “Well the privy's over yonder,” she pointed to her right and Giles' left, “and there's a horse trough if you want to wash...”

“No hot water then?” Giles asked sadly.

“I'm afraid the Landlady is a little prejudiced against you,” Bess explained with a resigned smile, “you being a 'Guy' and all, so no hot water for you...” Bess seemed to be staring hard at Giles' face.

“What?” Giles asked uncertainly when he noticed the direction of the young woman's gaze.

“Well, for my plan to work...”

“Plan?” Giles said suspiciously, “What plan?”

“You'll need a disguise...”

“Disguise?”

“Well,” Bess laughed, “you can't go round dressed like that...” she gestured at Giles' clothes, “...apart from anything else I have my reputation to think of!”

“Reputation?” Giles felt like a fool repeating words back to Bess like this.

“Yes, a young woman travelling with her very own Guy, what will people think? They'll think I'm queer that's what they'll think!”

“Queer?” Giles felt himself floundering, this was all too much and before breakfast too, “Look you can explain later, but now I must...” he gestured in the general direction of the privy, “...must...you know?”

“Indeed,” Bess turned and started to walk away, “you go and do what needs doing and I'll order breakfast.”

0=0=0=0

After using the privy and washing his face and hands in the horse trough as best he could, Giles rejoined Bess as she sat at an outside table behind the pub. No sooner had he sat down than the Landlady appeared and placed plates of bacon, eggs and freshly baked bread in front of them. Eyeing Giles warily as she served up breakfast she was careful never to turn her back on him or get too close. Once she'd gone Bess leaned across the table so she could speak without the possibility that they'd be overheard.

“She really doesn't like you, being here,” Bess confided.

“I'd never have guessed,” Giles replied dryly.

“Normally one of her daughters would have served us but she's been keeping her wife and her girls well away from you...and she keeps that loaded blunderbuss handy.”

“What does she think I'd do to them,” Giles wanted to know as he started to eat his breakfast, “grab them and ravish them?”

“Yes...” Bess replied simply, “...its not your fault Rupert, but you simply don't understand how much women fear wild Guys in this day and age.”

“I think I'm beginning to,” Giles replied soberly, “after what you've said and from what I've seen.”

“Which is why I want to get you some sort of disguise,” Bess made a sandwich of her bacon and eggs as she spoke.

“What sort of disguise?”

“Oh...” Bess bit into her sandwich and chewed for awhile as she considered the disguise she'd get for Giles, “...something to stop you standing out so much...but you're very tall so it might not be so easy.”

Giles had never considered himself particularly tall, but he supposed he must be in this world of women. After eating and drinking their fill; in this time there was no real tea or coffee, so breakfast was served with weak beer. The two friends left the table and went back inside the pub, while Bess ran upstairs to collect her weapons, Giles was left in the main room alone. As he stood there looking around, he decided the building looked like a fairly normal country pub. So, the walls were a little grimy from the smoke from the fire and everything looked a little worn around the edges, but there were shiny horse brasses nailed to the wooden beams and pictures of hunting scenes hanging from the walls. The furniture was heavy, dark and showed signs of hard and long use while the floor was just bare boards, really it was no worse and slightly better than what he'd expect from an inn from this sort of period.

As he looked around the room again, Giles became aware of someone watching him. Turning slowly he saw the faces of three young girls staring at him from around the edge of a door that probably lead to the kitchens or the landlady's private quarters. A soon as the girls, they all looked aged between about ten and thirteen, realising they'd been spotted they screamed in a mixture of fear and excitement before running off into the depths of the house.

“Well I'll be...” Giles was interrupted in his exclamation when one of the girls reappeared and threw something in his general direction.

“Penny for the Guy!” she cried before running off again.

Bending down, Giles picked up the coin from where it lay on the floor. It was indeed a penny, very much like the pennies he remembered from his childhood before decimalisation. On one side it had an engraving of Britannia, actually a stylised image of the Goddess Athena, while on the other side was a picture of a young woman with a crown on her head. Around the picture were the words 'Diana Regina' along with, 'Defender of the Right'.

“Queen Diana?” Giles said to himself softly just as Bess clattered down the stairs from the floor above; she was dressed very much as she had been when he'd first seen her, only now she was wearing a wide brimmed hat with a long white feather sticking out from the hat band.

“Look,” Giles called brightly holding up the coin, “I have money!”

“Ha!” Bess walked across the room to glance at the coin, “I bet whoever tossed you that said something like, 'Penny for the Guy', eh?”

“As a matter of fact she did,” Giles put the coin in his pocket, “why would she do that?”

“I'll explain later,” Bess told him, “but now I've got work to do...you better stick close to me and only speak if its really necessary.”

“Why not?” Giles demanded as he followed Bess out of the front door.

“Because Guys don't talk, they only grunt and growl.”

“They do?”

“Actually,” although Bess had warned him not to speak she didn't feel the need to stay quiet herself, “we're going to see the village Guy now.”

“We are?” Giles whispered out of the corner of his mouth; he could feel the gaze of a dozens of pairs of eyes on him as they walked together across the village green.

“Yes, they keep the Guy locked up behind the Constable's cottage,” Bess explained.

“So...?” Giles couldn't see how this all fitted together.

“Look,” Bess sighed deeply, “there's a wedding tomorrow and the bride wants to get on and start a family as soon as possible. So, the Guy will need to be examined and cleaned up, so I'll be there to restrain him if needs be...normally the Constable would get a dozen of the toughest villagers to put the Guy in chains so the doctor can give him the once over. Then tomorrow someone will need to secure him to the breeding bench.”

“The what?” Giles was more than a little confused, “No...” he shook his head, “...no, I don't think I want to know.”

“Well you'll get to see soon enough,” Bess said as they arrived at a cottage with a blue lantern over the door.

The door was opened by a short muscular looking woman in her early thirties, she was dressed in a dark blue pair of knee breeches and a matching jacket with brass buttons down the front, the buttons were undone at the moment and it looked like the constable had only just got up from her breakfast table.

“Mornin' Slayer,” said the constable, she didn't sound very happy that Bess' was there.

“Mornin' Constable,” Bess replied before asking, “are you ready?”

“Suppose,” the constable replied reluctantly, “I suppose you'll want your ten shillings?”

“No, I'll want my full Pound,” Bess replied shortly as she placed her left hand on the hilt of her rapier, “its the going rate for the job.”

“Oh all right...” the constable said with an ill grace before turning and heading back into her cottage.

“If I wasn't here,” Bess told Giles, “she'd split the money with a few of her mates and they'd all get pissed, a Pound's enough to buy ninety-six pints of beer you know? But as I'm here she'll have to use the money to pay me.”

“Oh I see...” Giles said as the constable had reappeared and started to count coins into Bess' out held hand.

“Round the back then...” the constable started to lead the way around her cottage but noticed Giles for the first time. “...'ere wots 'e doin' 'ere? Y'know havin' a Guy off 'is leash is a ten shillin' fine?”

“Oh old Giles here,” Bess laughed and slapped the constable on the shoulder in a comradely way, “You don't need to worry about him...” she moved closer to the constable so she could talk privately, “...he's very old and harmless...and actually he's not even 'capable' any more so you'll get no trouble from him.”

The constable eyed Giles in that way that police officers do the world over when they didn't believe a word you're telling them.

“If 'e's so old an' 'incapable' why'd keep 'im?”

“He's sort of a family heirloom,” Bess shrugged helplessly, “my mother insisted I look after him...” she shrugged a second time, “...what can one do?”

“Hmm,” it was obvious that the constable didn't believe a word of Bess' story; but, she needed the slayer so there wasn't much she could do about it. “Alright then I'll let it slide just this once, but if 'e causes any trouble I'll shoot 'im and you'll be in the stocks for a week.”

“I promise he'll be no trouble at all,” Bess reassured the constable before she looked a Giles and ruffled his hair, “will you old boy?”

Giles had to bite his tongue to stop himself from bursting out with a suitable comeback. Following Bess and the constable to the rear of the cottage, Giles caught site of a large metal cage about twelve feet on each side and maybe eight feet high. Outside the cage stood two more women. One was well into her forties by the look of her greying hair, she was dressed in a faded black dress with a stiffly starched white blouse beneath it; she also carried a heavy leather bound book in her hands. Obviously she was some sort of priestess, Giles told himself. The other woman was younger than the priestess and was dressed in a light grey dress with a white apron over it, she carried a doctor's bag and wore glasses on the end of her nose.

“Can we get on with this?” asked the priestess, “I have to get the church ready for the ceremony tomorrow...”

“And I have my rounds to do,” added the doctor just as she caught sight of Giles, “I say!” she walked over to Giles and looked up into his face, “What's this?”

“Slayer's pet,” grumbled the constable.

“Oh how interesting,” the doctor said slowly as she looked Giles up and down before turning to Bess, “I've never seen a Guy this old before, may I examine him sometime?”

“Come on,” the constable searched in her pockets and brought forth a large iron key, “lets get on, I thought you all said that you had work to do,” she unlocked the gate to the cage, “Come on slayer, do your duty.”

0=0=0=0


	5. Chapter 5

**Brockenhurst.**

Once again, Giles found himself waking up in the hay loft of the barn behind the pub. Today he found himself thinking over what he'd seen the day before when Bess had 'restrained' the village Guy. No sooner had Bess entered the cage than she'd been attacked my a naked, growling apparition that sprang forth from the darkness at the back of the cage. The creature, Giles named it thus because his mind refused to believe that this 'animal' was a man, threw itself at Bess clawing at her clothes as it tried to pull her to the ground. If this monster in human form had managed to over power the young woman whom Giles was beginning to feel a certain amount of affection for, it would have certainly tried to rape and kill her.

However, Bess was a slayer and easily parried the Guy's first attack knocking him across the cage and back into the dark. The Guy for his part appeared to be made out of rubber because he bounced back to his feet and in an instant he was coming at Bess his talon like hands reaching for her throat as it growled and slavered in its excitement. Drawing back her fist, Bess punched the Guy in the face as he leapt through the air towards her. The Guy appeared to stop in mid air as its jaw came into violent contact with Bess' fist. In half a moment the Guy was turned from a slavering, ferocious monster, to a harmless and rather pathetic looking creature lying unconscious on the floor of his cage.

Taking some shackles, Bess secured the creature's hands behind its back before standing to one side to let the doctor and the parson examine the sleeping Guy. While the parson muttered some prayers over the man-beast, the doctor checked the creature's heart, pulse and eyes, she even smelt the Guy's breath. After ensuring that the beast hadn't received any broken bones and there were no suspicious looking sores on his body or insect infestations, the doctor proclaimed the Guy fit to breed the next day after the wedding. Once the doctor and the parson had left the cage, Bess released the Guy from his restraints and left the cage herself allowing the constable to lock the Guy up until he was needed again.

Giles spent the rest of the day by himself in the barn because Bess said she needed to carry out some tasks where he couldn't go with her. However, she did leave a couple of slim history books for him to read. The books confirmed most of what Bess had told him the previous day about the recent past, so the day wasn't completely wasted he'd told himself. Bess reappeared that evening saying that she'd have a surprise for Giles in the morning. They took their evening meal together in the barn, the landlady was still apparently expecting Giles to go berserk, leap on the members of her family and do unspeakable things to them, so she still wasn't happy about having Giles around and had barred him from the pub itself.

0=0=0=0

“Mornin' Rupert,” Bess called as she walked into the barn carrying a bundle of clothes under her arm.

“Morning, Bess,” Giles replied happy to see the one person in this world who treated him as something more than an animal, “what's that you've got there?”

“This?” Bess held up the bundle before tossing it to one side to land on a pile of hay, “Nothing to concern yourself with just now...” she turned and walked back to the door of the barn and called to someone outside, “...girls!” 

A moment later two teenage girls walked nervously into the barn and stared in a mixture of fear and fascination at Giles. One carried two buckets of hot water while the other carried a large wooden washing tub.

“Alright, girls!” Bess called briskly, “Put your things down and run along...”

Obediently the two girls put down their loads and left the barn, but not before they'd collected small silver coins from Bess and cast one last curious look at Giles.

“The things I do for you,” Bess signed as she picked up the wooden bowl and placed it on top of an old barrel which stood against the barn wall, “but then again its not every day you meet a childhood hero.” Bess started to take items from inside the bowl, “I've got you soap, a comb, a looking glass...” she turned to glance at Giles, “...be careful with that because I've got to give it back and here...” she turned and handed Giles what looked like an old fashioned potato peeler, seeing Giles confusion she explained, “...I couldn't find a proper razor, but this will do for now.”

“I see,” Giles frowned at the object in his hand, “I think.”

“It's what some girls use to shave their legs,” Bess shrugged, “I've never seen the point myself I mean, either you're wearing trousers and socks or a dress and stockings, either way no one sees your legs and anyway what's wrong with hair? It's all perfectly natural. Sometimes I think if someone told the young girls of today to wear a duck on their heads I believe they would.”

“Indeed,” Giles remembered saying something not dissimilar to Buffy once upon a time, the more things changed the more they stayed the same, he told himself.

“So,” Bess clapped her hands together as if she was trying to get the attention of a crowd of rowdy children, “get washed and shaved, its not as if you don't need it.”

“Of course,” Giles started to unbutton his waistcoat, “I've never liked the idea of growing a beard and I have to admit that I'm getting a little 'ripe'.”

“So, it wasn't just me then?” Bess smirked.

Noticing that Giles wasn't stopping at his waistcoat and was in fact starting to take off his shirt, Bess remembered she was supposed to be a lady and turned away. Doing her best to ignore the rather attractive older man who had now stripped down to his undergarments, she busied herself sorting out the bundle of clothes she'd bought in Lyndhurst the previous day. There was a good road between Brockenhurst and Lyndhurst and she'd been able to hire a horse and saddle so she'd not had to walk the five miles there and back.

Even though there was a risk of someone and by that she meant the Queen's soldiers, recognising her she'd had to go to the bigger town because she wouldn't be able to find everything she wanted in the village. Even so she'd not been able to find all the things she needed and supporting Giles as well as herself was starting to make serious inroads into her funds, she'd already spent the pound that she'd been paid for restraining the Guy. But, with a little luck, she might pick up some more cash after the wedding today, but that would only likely be pennies and shillings. What Giles and herself would be needing was some serious cash and Bess believed she knew just where to find it.

“Right,” Bess glanced over her shoulder to see that Giles had now wrapped a towel around his waist and was shaving his chin, “you know what I said about a disguise...?”

“Yes,” Giles paused in his shaving and looked out of the corner of his eye at Bess, “I do remember you mentioning it.”

“Well I've found you one,” Bess held up the log grey skirt she'd bought the day before.

“I hope you're bloody well not expecting me to wear that?” Giles stood and stared in disbelief at the garment in Bess' hands.

“It's the best I could do,” Bess replied with a helpless shrug, “while you're wearing these we can have your own clothes altered to something like modern fashion but until then you're going to have to be my Aunt Rupertina!”

“Who?” by now Giles had forgotten all about shaving and was concentrating on what sounded like a life spent in drag.

“Auntie?” Bess replied hopefully, “Look you can't go around as what you are, people will point and stare and lock you in a cage or worse yet shoot you!”

“Oh yes,” Giles removed his glasses for a moment and squinted at the skirt in Bess' hands, “there is that I suppose...”

“So you'll wear them?”

“I suppose I'll have to,” Giles was if nothing else a pragmatist and dressing in drag like some music hall turn was much better than being locked in a cage or shot.

0=0=0=0

Half an hour later Giles sat in his disguise as Bess' auntie while the young woman in question fussed with his hair.

“Did all men in the past wear their hair so short?” Bess asked as she combed Giles' hair in an effort to make it look longer than it was.

“Mostly,” Giles looked at himself in the mirror; he looked like a pantomime dame, which seemed quite appropriate because Bess looked very much like the 'principal boy' from the same pantomime.

“Well, I can't do much with it until it grows longer and did you know that you seem to be losing your hair?”

“As it happens...” Giles glanced at his reflection, yes his hairline was receding a little but it wasn't that bad; it was only then that the thought struck him, Bess had probably never seen anyone who was going bald before.

“Whatever,” Bess shrugged, defeated by Giles' inability to instantly grow long hair, “we'll just have to put a scarf over your head and if you wear a hat with the brim pulled down so it hides your face...” she paused for a breath, “...anyway, people only see what they expect to see so we should be alright...can you use a sword?”

“Of course, but...” Giles didn't get to say anything else because Bess had thrust a sheathed sword not unlike her own into his hands, “Do you really think this is necessary?”

“The world's still full of monsters and demons and some of the people you meet aren't exactly angels either,” Bess smiled pityingly down at Giles, “believe me when I say you'll need it.”

“If you say so,” Giles replied with a long suffering sigh as Bess tied a red scarf around his head and placed a hat over it at a jaunty angle; he adjusted the brim so a shadow fell across his face.

“There,” Bess said brightly as she patted him on the shoulder, “good to go!”

“And where are we...” Giles began only to find himself being cut off in mid sentence once more.

“Come on,” Bess picked up her own hat and placed it on her head, “we've got a wedding to go to.”

“A wedding!?” Giles replied slightly confused as he was dragged to his feet and pulled towards the barn door.

0=0=0=0

The church had been decked out in summer flowers and white ribbon, this had obviously been what the parson had been complaining about at the constable's house; but Giles had to admit that she'd done a pretty good job. The church while having a lot in common with a Christian church, was markedly different because all the 'Saints' that decorated the stained glass windows were female. Giles promised himself a talk with the parson at the first opportunity to present itself. However, right at this moment the parson was standing dressed in her long black and white robes in front of the altar at the far end of the church. In front of her stood two young women, one dressed in black britches and jacket with a white shirt, white stocking and black, silver buckled shoes. The other girl was dressed in what appeared to be a traditional, white wedding dress.

“I expect this is all very strange to you,” Bess whispered in his ear, they were standing at the back of the packed church.

“Not really,” he'd been to a couple of 'gay' weddings in his time and after the first shock of 'the new' had passed he'd hardly noticed that the couple getting married were the same sex. “Who are the...” he'd been going to say 'bride and groom', but he thought that might be inappropriate under the circumstances, so instead he said, “...the, erm, happy couple?” 

“Tracy Much, the Miller's daughter, and Sharon Fletcher, she's the one in the dress,” Bess pointed out.

“Fletcher?” Giles nodded, “her...I suppose her mother, makes arrows?”

“Yes,” Bess nodded, “this is a good marriage for her,” she explained further, “with all the new firearms around the bottom's fallen out of the arrow market these days, unless you can get one of the military contracts to make arrows.”

“The military still use bows then?” Giles filled the information about the increase in the use of firearms away in his mind.

“Yes, but not as much as it used to,” Bess replied in a whisper, “Shh, the service is about to begin.”

0=0=0=0

Standing at the back of the church, Giles was able to watch the proceedings without having to worry that someone would notice that he was taking an extra special interest in what he was doing. So far his disguise had held up to inspection, only a few of the villagers had looked at him twice and that was probably on account of him being so much taller than everyone else. Bess had introduced him as her 'Aunt Rupertina' to anyone who'd looked interested. But on this happy occasion no one was particularly bothered about who the very tall woman was who went around with the wandering slayer. It seemed that Bess was right, people saw what they expected to see or at least kept their suspicions to themselves.

The wedding ceremony itself didn't last very long, there was the usual swapping of rings and promises to be faithful before the parson proclaimed the couple 'wife and wife'. There was a loud cheer from the congregation, which took Giles a little by surprise and the newly weds made a run for the door as everyone pelted them with flowers and what looked like pieces of brightly coloured uncooked pasta. Waiting until everyone else had left the church, Giles and Bess tagged on to the end of the crowd and went outside. There under a bright blue sky were lines of tables loaded down with food and drink for the after ceremony party, there was even a whole pig being roasted over an open fire.

“Exactly why are we here?” Giles asked as he attempted to keep his voice pitched higher than normal while at the same time trying not to sound like a bad, comedy, female impersonator.

“Remember I said that the bride wanted to start a family straight away after the wedding?”

“Yes, what's that...oh! I see,” Giles did in fact see or at least he suspected he knew what was going to happen, Bess was there to 'deal' with the Guy and hadn't she said something about a 'breeding bench'?

“Yes,” Bess picked up half a chicken and started to pull it apart as she transferred pieces of meat to her mouth, “now you're disguised as my Aunt you can come with me and watch if you like.”

“No...” Giles smiled down at his friend, “...no I don't think I'll bother...” movement on the other side of the green caught his eye, he pointed the new arrivals out to Bess, “...now who do you think they are?”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Bess gasped as she turned to see the figures in black uniforms march towards the party led by a woman on a horse; each of the marching figures carried a musket over her shoulder and a sword on her hip.

“Something wrong?” Giles asked with amazing understatement.

“Those are some of The Guy of Gizbourne's soldiers,” Bess explained as her hand reached for her sword, “this is not good, not good at all!”

0=0=0=0


	6. Chapter 6

**The Wedding Party.**

“Just who the hell is this Guy of Gizbourne fellow?” Giles wanted to know as the black clad soldiers drew closer.

“He's one of the Queen's favourites,” Bess explained as the crowd around her grew more restless at the soldier's approach, “Some say he was born before the plague turned all men into Guys.”

“How?” Giles was just about to ask how anyone could live so long and why this Gizbourne fellow could live through the plague without being changed, but he stopped himself before the questions were fully formed in his mind; he could in fact think of several very good reasons why.

“Some say he's a powerful he-witch,” Bess continued, the soldiers were now only a few yards away, “personally I think he's a vampire!”

Now the soldiers were really close, Giles could see their equipment quite clearly, the twelve apostles hanging from the belts across their shoulders, their haversacks, swords and water canteens, everything was painted or dyed black to add to their sinister appearance.

“What makes you say that?” Giles wanted to know; the blackly menacing soldiers had now come to a halt and had deployed into two ranks of twelve facing the villagers.

“Oh, I don't know,” Bess shrugged, “it might be that he's very old, only comes out at night, drinks blood and is the only Frenchie I know of who doesn't like garlic!”

“Ah yes, I can see what might make you think like that...that he's a vampire,” Giles replied with a nod, “so what's going on here, then?”

“Looks like old Gizbourne is collecting his taxes.”

“Taxes?” before Giles could speak again the officer who was still sitting high on her horse spoke.

“Oi, comment un mariage doux,” she sneered in French before pointing at the 'bride', “Prenez la jeune fille dans la robe blanche!”

At the officer's order several soldiers detached themselves from the ranks and began to push and elbow their way through the crowd towards the now, not so happy couple.

“Hors de mon chemin putain anglaise de porc!” snarled one of the soldiers as she tried to push past Giles.

“I say that's a bit rich, isn't it!?” Giles exclaimed as he stumbled away from the unpleasant French woman, before he could stop himself he'd pushed the female soldier back.

“Mon Dieu!” the soldier cried surprised at Giles' strength, “Votre mère était une 'ampster et votre autre mère sentait baies de sureau!”

“Oh no she didn't!” Giles replied indignantly as he pushed the French soldier again, this time he almost knocked her to the ground.

“Oi oui, elle a fait!” this time instead of trying to push back at Giles the soldier moved to strike him with the butt of her musket, but, before she could use her weapon on Giles he'd punched her on the end of her nose.

“Oi! Mon nez! Mon nez!” cried the soldier as she stumbled away from Giles clutching at her bloody nose and dropping her musket which went off with a loud bang and cloud of white powder smoke as its butt hit the ground.

Giles felt the ball whizz passed his ear as the sound of the shot froze everyone in position for the space of a heartbeat and temporary silence descended over the scene for a moment after the sudden gun shot.

“Let's get 'em!” growled an English voice from the back of the crowd of wedding guests.

With a cheer the wedding guests fell on the French soldiers and a general melee ensued. Punches were thrown, shins kicked and hair was pulled as the two sides came together.

“Now you've done it!” Bess cried as she drew her rapier and ran one of the soldiers through the stomach, the woman groaned softly before collapsing onto the green and dropping her musket, it too went off with another loud bang; the bullet flew from the barrel to shoot off the ear of one of the black-clad soldiers. 

The sound of the shot drew a surprised gasp from the lips of the villagers and a cry of alarm from the wounded soldier; it also appeared to have the effect of stiffening the resolve of the wedding guests as they redoubled their efforts at trying to eject the French from their village. A few women who'd been hanging back unsure as to whether they should get involved in the fight now picked up chairs or stools and eating utensils before rushing to join the fray, Giles even caught sight of the parson striking a soldier about the head with her bible-like holy book.

“I'm sorry,” Giles replied; by now he too had pulled his sword and was thrusting at a soldier who was trying to parry his attacks with her musket.

“Dépêchons obtenir la jeune fille et laissez-nous sortir d'ici!” cried the officer as she tried to control both her nervous horse and dodge the objects that were being through at her by a gang of young girls dressed in their Sunday best.

Eventually the officer was hit one the side of her head by a deftly thrown apple and tumbled from her horse. Dispatching the soldier facing him with a thrust to the abdomen, Giles pushed himself through the struggling crowd until he was facing the downed officer.

“En garde!” Giles cried as he took up his stance ready to run the French woman through the heart.

“Sacrée bleu!” cried the officer as she climbed back to her feet and saw Giles only a sword's length away from her; in an instant she'd weighed up her military options, “Fuyez! Retraite!”

Turning away from where Giles stood she scrambled off down the lane following her horse with her soldiers running after her who, in turn, were pursued by the jeers and defiant gestures of the victorious villagers.

“I say that was bracing!” Bess cried as she appeared next to Giles' shoulder, “But we better be off,” she started to drag Giles over to where the bodies of four dead soldiers lay scattered across the green along with another two or three wounded ones who were now being roughly handled by the villagers. “I say!” Bess called in what Giles could only describe as her 'officer's voice', “None of that!” she ordered, “We're not the First's servants here, we're English and we treat our prisoners charitably, CONSTABLE!”

“Ma'am?” the constable looked slightly dazed from everything that had happened in the last few minutes.

“Do you have a cell?” Bess asked as she knelt down next to one of the dead soldiers and started to strip the body of its equipment.

“Why yes, ma'am,” the constable knew a noblewoman when she heard one and as Bess sounded very much like a member of the nobility (and one who obviously didn't like the French) she decided that now was a good time to do what she was asked.

“Lock the prisoners up for say twelve hours then let them go, you can strip them naked before you send them on their way if you like, but have the doctor look at them first and bind up their wounds...”

“Right you are ma'am!” replied the constable before directing several villagers to help her escort the prisoners to the village's only cell.

“Auntie,” Bess called, but when Giles didn't respond, she had to call again, “Auntie Rupertina!”

“Yes? Sorry? What?” Giles replied vaguely as he turned to look down at Bess.

“Here give me a hand, would you?” Bess was still busy collecting muskets and ammunition from the dead bodies, she thrust a musket into Giles hand, “do you know how to shoot one of these.”

“I dare say I can work it out,” Giles replied as he ran his eye over the musket, much to his surprise he saw that it was a fairly sophisticated flintlock weapon and not the less efficient matchlock that he'd half expected,“If you don't mind me asking, Bess old thing, but what the hell has just happened here?”

“A minor riot, or a blow struck for liberty,” Bess shrugged as she looked in the haversack she'd retrieved from one of the dead soldiers before putting it over her own shoulder, “It depends on your point of view.”

“You said something about taxes?” Giles asked as he accepted a belt with twelve wooden cartridges hanging from it, the twelve apostles as they'd been called in his past.

“Look,” Bess stood up and straightened her new found equipment and settled it into a more comfortable position, “the 'Guy' is a vampire so its simple...”

“Oh I see,” Giles said as the penny finally dropped, “he wanted young Miss Fletcher to be _his_ bride...”

“...and drink her blood, perhaps turn her into one of his vampiric sex slaves!”

“Oh, my word!” Giles replied horrified, “And this is allowed?”

“Not as such,” Bess pressed more gear into Giles' hands, “But The Guy of Gizbourne is protected by the Sheriff of Southampton and the sheriff is one of Queen Diana's servants. So, if you go after Gizbourne your are, in a roundabout way, going after the Queen herself.”

“Ah I see,” Giles nodded before looking down at all the gear he'd suddenly acquired, “So what do we do now?”

“We, my dear Aunt Rupertina...”

“I do wish you'd stop calling me that...” Giles sighed as he and Bess started to walk towards the church.

“Oh no!” Bess laughed as she patted his cheek, “I think it suits you!”

“You know you're not too big for me to put across my knee and...”

“But I'm also a slayer,” Bess pointed out.

“Oh yes, forgot that, sorry...”

“I'll let you off this once,” Bess replied magnanimously, “but to answer your original question, we are going to the Green Wood to hide out.”

“We are?”

“Yes we are,” Bess repeated, “there's a good chance that the officer recognised me so there'll be more soldiers sent to come after me and arrest me.”

“Can I ask why?” Giles wanted to know.

“Yes,” Bess nodded.

“Why?”

“I'll explain later...” Bess said; before Giles could say anything more the couple were confronted by the parson. “Parson!” Bess cried out as the woman appeared in front of them.

“Oh well done, Madam!” cried the Parson as she slapped Giles on the shoulder, “It's so good to see people stand up to the Queen and her French lackeys, well done, well done! We really showed those French Poodles what for, didn't we.”

“Indeed we did,” Giles agreed, the Parson obviously didn't recognise him as the lowly 'Guy' from only the day before.

“I remember when I was a Padre in the old Queen's army we really kept the Frogs hopping then too!” the Parson continued.

“Ah, excuse me Reverend,” Bess butted in, “but they'll probably be sending more soldiers after us and anyway they'll want to find out what happened here.”

“Oh yes I see,” the Parson nodded in agreement, “I take it you're both not exactly two of the Queen's blue eyed girls...”

“Exactly,” agreed Bess with a firm nod.

“Oh I expect they'll send soldiers from the garrison in Southampton,” the Parson explained, “they're all good Englishwomen even if they do follow the False Queen and there's no love lost between them and those garlic munching Frenchie sluts. I'll deal with them, don't you worry.”

“Thanks a lot Reverend,” Bess replied gratefully.

“You'll be heading into the forest then?” the Parson asked, “No! Don't tell me where, just in case Gizbourne sends more troops.”

“What'll you do if he does,” Giles wanted to know.

“Oh, we'll drive all the livestock into the forest and hide until they go away,” the Parson reassured him, “We'll be safe enough.”

“I hope so,” Giles replied worried that in starting the fight he might have got these women's village burnt down.

“You run along now,” cried the Parson as she gestured to the trees just outside the village, “go with the Lady, sisters!”

0=0=0=0

“So,” Giles asked; they'd left the village well behind them and started to make their way deep into the forest, “why aren't you popular with the Queen?”

“Because I'm loyal to the True Queen.” Bess replied simply.

“And...?”

“Look,” Bess took a long breath and started to explain properly, “Queen Diana isn't the real queen, she usurped the throne whilst her sister was in France fighting the Frogs.”

“And you were in France too?”

“Yes,” Bess nodded, “I was an Ensign in the Queen's Lifeguard, I was wounded and sent home just before the True Queen vanished...everyone thinks Queen Diana had her kidnapped and she's holding her in the Tower in London.”

“The Tower, eh?” Giles mused, “At least this Queen Diana has a certain respect for tradition.”

“What?”

“I my history the Kings and Queens of England invariably kept their enemies locked up in the Tower of London.”

“Oh...” Bess sniffed, “...anyway its not right,” she added firmly, “I mean the Queen, I mean the _Rightful_ Queen might not have been the best Queen in the world and I admit she did tend to be a little silly and liked to party and hunt, but she didn't oppress the people or tax them too much and throw people into prison without trial and cut women's ears off for no reason, but she did like to fight the French so she was pretty popular with everyone...not like that blonde, Frog loving tart Diana and everyone knows the Frogs are all in league with the First, they're as bad as the Jocks!”

“I see,” Giles replied as he thought the problem over, “and you're trying to put the rightful Queen back on her throne assuming she's still alive?”

“Of course!” Bess replied firmly, “Most of 'The Ladies' and 'The Commons' want Queen Diana gone and the rightful Queen back on the throne and this time they'll make sure she rules properly.”

“I see,” Giles agreed before changing the subject, “so where exactly are we going just now?”

“Oh there's a place deep in the forest where we can build a camp,” Bess explained with more excitement in her voice than Giles had expected, “there's good water and plenty of game to hunt, no one will find us there.”

“And you know this how?”

“Oh,” Bess smiled at her memories, “remember I said I came from a good family?”

“Indeed I do,” Giles nodded.

“Well, my mothers used to take me and my sisters hunting here when we were little...”

“You have sisters?”

“Yes, three, all younger than me,” Bess replied sadly, “I hope one of my aunts got them to Ireland or to Holland before that silly bint, Diana sent her Frenchies to arrest them.”

“Oh I expect they'll be safe enough,” time to change the subject again he thought, “So, if we're hiding in the forest how do we put the rightful Queen back on the throne or at least get rid of the usurper?”

“Ah...” Bess said quietly, “...I'd not actually got that far with my plan,” she admitted, “I did think of raising a band of tough outlaws who would lead the people in revolt to overthrow that over dressed Bimbo!”

“Oh you mean like Robin Hood and his Merry Men?”

“I must protest!” Bess stopped dead in her tracks and turned angrily to face Giles, “I am not a 'Merry Man'!”

“Erm...” Giles hesitated a little taken aback by the force of Bess' sentiment before suggesting, “...perhaps...Robina Hood and her Merry Women?”

“Merry Women?” Bess asked as she started to walk again.

“Something like that...” Giles suggested.

“Hmmm...Merry Women makes them sound like prostitutes.”

“Prostitutes?” Giles had to wonder that in this world almost entirely inhabited by women that there'd still be a need for prostitutes.

“Whatever,” Bess shrugged as she led the way deeper into the forest, “we'll decide what to call ourselves and our followers once we have them.”

“ _Our_ followers?” Giles queried.

0=0=0=0


	7. Chapter 7

_Rupertina Giles, Rupertina Giles, riding through the glen,  
Rupertina Giles, Rupertina Giles with her band of women.  
Feared by the bad, loved by the good!  
Rupertina Giles, Rupertina Giles, Rupertina Giles!_

*

**The Green Wood.**

Giles was getting used to dressing in 'drag' after nearly two weeks of living in the 'Green Wood'. That didn't mean he liked doing it, he'd just got used to it and anyway there was no real alternative. The clothes he'd arrived in this world were lost to him now having been left behind in Brockenhurst when he and Bess had left the hamlet after the fight with The Guy of Gizbourne's soldiers. On the plus side that fight had supplied them with a few recruits, Much the Miller's Daughter, a pleasant young woman called Tracy and her wife Sharon turned up at the camp about four days after the fight. Apparently, Gizbourne was still lusting after Sharon, so the young couple decided to leave the village for the safety of the forest.

Another reason for their sudden arrival was that Gizbourne had sent more troops to 'punish' the village for resisting his will. Unfortunately (for Guy) his troops arrived in the village at about the same time as a company of regular soldiers from Southampton. The Sheriff had sent troops to investigate reports of a riot in the village. As the Parson had predicted there was no love lost between the local English soldiers and Gizbourne's French mercenaries. A brisk skirmish developed over who had jurisdiction over the investigation; the 'discussion' ended with Gizbourne's troops being ejected from the village. The officer in charge of the English force decided that any reports of riots were just the fantasies of wine clouded, French minds and after a couple of days she marched her soldiers back to Southampton.

The arrival of so many troops in Brockenhurst also caused some of the more adventurous minded teenagers and young women; mainly those who were bored of staring at the southern end of a north bound plough horse, to leave and come join Bess' outlaw band. Although the camp was now taking on the appearance of a permanent settlement there were still things that they needed to make it a genuine village. As Bess had told Giles, there was good water close by and the woods teamed with game. But there was nothing to hunt it with, yes Bess and one or two of her new recruits had caught rabbits and hares using wire snares but there was nothing to hunt larger game with.

Certainly Bess and Giles still had the muskets that they had taken from Gizbourne's soldiers. But, there was only a limited supply of powder and shot, plus there was the noise a musket made when fired. Too many shots fired in the woods might cause unwanted attention. So, it was decided that bows and arrows would be needed. Most country girls had been taught the use the (to Giles) cut down longbows and of course arrows could be reused where powder and shot couldn't. So it was decided that the muskets would be kept for combat while bows would be used for hunting and everyday use.

It was after this had all been agreed that Giles found himself tramping through the green wood with only his rapier and quarterstaff to keep him company. He also had several purses full of coins that had been 'donated' to the outlaw band by supporters of Queen Diana. The Queen's supporter had had the misfortune to be travelling through the woods at the same time that Bess and a couple of her village girls had been lying in wait for unwary travellers.

Giles' mission was to go to the village of Burley, which was near the western edge of the forest and contact Sarah the Bower a maker of bows who was reported to be willing to sell the outlaws bows and arrows. While he was on this supply mission, Bess and her girls would be out looking for more 'donors' to the band's coffers and the 'Return the Rightful Queen to the Throne’ fund.

Walking along the forest path that should lead him to Burley, Giles rubbed his chin absently as he went along. He'd still not found a proper razor and the weird contraption that he used at the moment was slowly getting blunter and there didn't seem to be away of sharpening it, plus it wasn't the most efficient method of shaving. His mind distracted by thoughts of custom made shaving kits, he didn't notice the river until he almost fell into it.

“Bloody hell!” Giles exclaimed as he stumbled away from the edge of the fast flowing stream.

Standing on the bank, Giles looked down at the water as it rapidly went by. The river wasn't particularly deep or wide, but the banks were steep and the water was probably very cold and was almost certainly very wet. Not wishing to have to wade the river, Giles looked for a bridge or stepping stones, even a ford would have done at a pinch. Following the path along the river bank he came around a bend in the river to find a narrow wooden bridge that had been hidden from sight by a large clump of bushes. Relieved at the thought of not having to get wet and cold crossing the river, Giles set his foot on the bridge and started to cross. He was more than half way across the river when the largest woman he'd ever seen appeared from the bushes on the opposite bank and put one outsize foot on her end of the bridge.

“Out of me way, insignificant woman,” growled the female giant, “I wish to cross.”

“Oh I say, this is just too bad,” Giles mumbled to himself as he looked up at the woman; she had to me nearly seven foot tall. 

Dressed in rough outdoors garb her rather plain features was framed by masses of dark brown hair; for weapons she carried a huge quarterstaff and a woods-woman's axe that would have looked only a little bigger than a hatchet would on a normal sized woman. Not being intimidated by this appreciation, after all Giles was a man and was generally stronger than even the toughest women of this time, he stood his ground.

“Why don't you back up and let me finish crossing?” Giles asked in a reasonable voice.

“Think ye can make me?” the giant's voice sort of rumbled across the narrow space between them; still Giles refused to back down, he hated bullies and this creature seemed to be one of that type.

“Look I've no time to waste with the likes of you,” Giles replied firmly, “now just step aside and let me pass.”

The giant started to do chicken impersonations as she remained firmly rooted to her end of the bridge.

“Oh good grief,” Giles sighed tiredly he really didn't have time for this, “Look!” he cried as he started to lose his patience with the oversized woman, “If you don't step aside I'll have no option than to give you a damn good thrashing!”

“Ooooh!” sniggered the giant, “I'm _soooo_ scared!”

“Look, you can't say I didn't warn you,” Giles brought his staff around and into the en garde position; although he didn't like to brag he considered himself an expert in the use of the quarterstaff, “but you leave me no other option...en garde!”

Advancing carefully towards the woman, Giles hesitated for just a moment when he saw the woman bring her own staff up and hold it across her body. The stave was massive, it had to be at least twice as thick as his own and early nine feet long. For a moment Giles considered backing down, but told himself that he was an expert, he was probably stronger than even this monster and nothing that size could possibly be fast on its feet, so he probably had another advantage there. It was while these thoughts were flying around inside his head that the giantess almost cracked open his skull. The woman's staff seemed to blur into action and Giles only just managed to bring his own staff up to save his head from being cracked open. The force with which the woman's staff hit his own made his hands go numb for a moment. No sooner had he parried the woman's attack against his head than Giles found himself blocking blows aimed at his arms, legs and body. Giving ground, Giles backed across the bridge in the direction from which he'd just come.

The woman was obviously very strong and impressively quick, but now Giles was giving her his full attention he found he could block even her most devastatingly powerful attacks. It dawned on him that his opponent wasn't particularly skill-full. Of course being as strong as she was she didn't need to be that good, all she'd have to do in a fight against a normal woman was to beat down her defences and knock her out cold. Continuing to block her attacks, Giles noted the look of frustration in the woman's eyes, she obviously wasn't used to a fight going on for this long, Giles told himself that he could use his opponent's frustration against her. Blocking another blow aimed at his head, Giles launched a swift counter attack.

“OWWW!” Cried the monster as Giles' staff rapped her smartly across the knuckles of her right hand, not enough to break anything but hard enough to really hurt.

Parrying a blizzard of blows, Giles backed up a little more and saw the rage in his opponent's eyes. Good he told himself the woman was getting angry and when someone got angry they made mistakes. Biding his time as the giant beat on him with little effect, he eventually saw an opening. Lashing out with his stave he caught the woman a hefty blow on the side of her left knee. Her leg giving way under her, the woman stumbled away from Giles and lost her balance. Taking full advantage of his small victory, Giles advanced and launched a flurry of blows at his opponent. About half got around her guard and hit her all over her body. Going down on one knee the woman tried to shake off the effects of the blows she'd received, but Giles wouldn't let her rest.

Striking with the end of his staff, Giles hit the woman between her enormous breasts and knocked the breath from her lungs. As she slumped onto the bridge before him, Giles used his staff like a lever, got it underneath the woman and tumbled her into the river. Standing triumphantly on the bridge, Giles watched as the woman disappeared beneath the water. Half expecting to see her reappear coughing, spluttering and spitting water, Giles found himself disappointed.

“Oh bloody hell,” Giles sighed before making an annoyed clucking sound; the woman might have attacked him and she was no doubt a bully but he couldn't just let her drown.

Using his staff for support he jumped down into the river. He'd been right, the water was both wet and cold plus it dragged at the skirt he was wearing and almost pulled him off his feel. As he was searching for his drowning opponent a random thought entered his mind and that thought was 'kilts'. If he must wear a skirt, why not wear a kilt? The idea had promise and he was vaguely sure that the family name of 'Giles' might have Scottish connections but he could be wrong...MacGiles perhaps?

Feeling something bump against his leg, Giles bent down and grabbed hold of something just beneath the surface of the water. Heaving with all his might, he pulled the body of his opponent half out of the water before dragging her to the riverbank. Once there he found he had to put his staff to one side and use both his hands to pull the woman out of the water. As has already been noted the banks of the river were pretty steep and much to his dismay, Giles found that he wasn't quite strong enough to pull the woman up onto the flat ground above the riverbank. Getting as much of the huge woman out of the water as he could he now noticed that she wasn't breathing.

“Oh bloody hell,” Giles cried out once again and looked heavenward, “why me!?” he asked an uncaring universe.

Pushing the woman's head back he opened her breathing passage, pinching off her nose he started to administer the kiss of life. Thankfully it only took three or four breaths and chest compressions before the woman was coughing up water as she slowly regained consciousness. Scrambling away from the giantess, after all she might want to continue the fight even if he had just saved her life, Giles drew his sword. This time if she wanted to keep fighting he'd have no mercy, he'd run her through and heave her body back into the river.

“You!” cried the woman as she started to climb to her feet only then seeing Giles' sword aimed at her heart, she froze like a statue, “Ye intend to use that pig sticker on me?”

“Only if I have to,” Giles replied the point of his sword not moving away from its target, “why did you attack me?”

“Ah...” the woman slumped against the riverbank all the fight appeared to have deserted her, “...I 'ad intended to bash ye over your 'ead and steal those purses of yours,” she pointed to the purses that dangled from Giles' belt.

“So you're nothing but a common robber?” Giles relaxed a little but still kept his sword between him and the giant.

“Oh please,” the giantess gave a low but loud laugh, “I'm 'ardly a _common_ robber,” she said indicating her size, “an' anyway it takes a lot to feed me so robbing is an easy way of getting cash.”

“I see,” Giles climbed to the top of the bank and looked down at his prisoner, “so what am I to do with you?”

“Well as I see it,” the woman pushed herself up into a sitting position, “ye 'ave two choices...”

“Which are?”

“Either ye stick me with that toy sword of yours,” the woman gestured at Giles' rapier, “I mean ye might kill me before I rip your 'ead off, or...”

“Or?” Giles raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“...or ye could let me go, no 'arm, no foul?”

“Or I could march you to the nearest constable and have her lock you up,” Giles pointed out.

“Never goin' to 'appen,” the woman replied smugly as she stood up and was once again towering over Giles, “apart from anything else no constable's cell was made that can 'old me.”

“Yes I'm inclined to agree with you on that,” Giles chuckled, “however I can't just leave you free to rob and beat innocent travellers.”

“Y'can't?” the woman sounded genuinely surprised.

“No I can't, but there is another option if you're willing to hear me out?”

“Go on,” the woman replied suspiciously, “it costs nothing to listen I suppose.”

“You're a strong adventurous woman, right?” Giles began.

“I suppose,” the giantess shrugged her massive shoulders.

“You're also a formidable fighter,” he pointed out, “how about using those powers for good?”

“Good?” the giantess looked at him uncertainly.

“Yes, why don't you join me,” Giles continued with only a modicum of sarcasm, “I work with a band of plucky rebels who are determined to put the Rightful Queen back on the throne...”

“I don't know,” the woman rubbed her chin with a hand the size of a ham, “I try not to get involved in politics.”

“Ah, yes of course,” Giles could see the woman's point, becoming a rebel was a big step to take, “However, in most cultures the fact that I saved your life, when I could have just let you drown, means that your life belongs to me now.”

“Ah, yes I've 'eard of this,” the giantess nodded her head slowly, “hmm, if I was to agree to this I'd be like your servant with all the rights of a servant and you'd be obligated to feed and clothe me, right?”

“Ah yes,” Giles frowned, “I hadn't thought of that but I suppose yes, I'd be obligated to do that as you'd be obligated to follow me faithfully.”

“So if I agreed to this it wouldn't be forever, right?”

“Oh of course not,” Giles reassured her, “the obligation would only last until you saved my life in return or...lets say, a year and a day from today...I think that's traditional.”

“Hmmm,” the giantess thought about this for a minute or two. “Alright,” she said eventually, “I'll agree to be your servant until I either save your life or a year an' a day from this day has passed. In return you agree to not take advantage of your servant or mistreat her in anyway, alright?”

“Erm...” Giles tried to imagine himself 'mistreating' the giant woman before he shrugged and held out his hand, “...agreed.”

“Good,” grinned the woman as she shock Giles' hand without crushing it, “what are your first orders, Mistress?”

“Well,” Giles retrieved his hand surprised that it wasn't a managed lump of flesh and bone, “you could tell me your name...”

“Joan Little,” the giantess replied as she retrieved her quarterstaff from the riverbank, “though some call me Little Joan because I'm so big!”

“Oh good grief,” Giles sighed quietly.

0=0=0=0

*: Highlight and right click to play the real version.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BbyYr6L5xQM


	8. Chapter 8

**The Green Wood.**

It was now August and the outlaw camp contained almost fifty fighters and half as many again dependants. Most of the women in the camp had fallen foul of one of the False Queen's officials or some new oppressive law had caused them to be thrown out their homes and off their land. Others had simply joined out of a feeling that Queen Diana had been wrong to take the throne from her sister. Yet others joined simply for the romance and adventure of the cause. Whatever their reason for joining, the 'Merry Women' were rapidly forming into a tight knit fighting force.

Already any of the Queen's functionaries took their lives in their hands if they wanted to follow the main road from Southampton to Bournemouth. It was a lucky official who wasn't attacked, robbed and sent naked on to her destination. With each attack, the robbers had met with very little real resistance, not only did the band acquire more money but they also recovered more weapons. By now a least half the band had muskets while the other half had bows. However, both Giles and Bess knew this state of affairs couldn't last long, very soon anyone who worked for the Queen would only enter the forest with a strong military escort.

It was with this in mind that Giles had been trying to think of ways to give the outlaws an 'edge' for when the day came that they'd be confronted by a strong military force that wouldn't simply runaway after a few musket shots and arrows were sent in their direction. Musket in hand Giles sought out Bess one morning to show her his latest idea for improving their capabilities against the time the False Queen's troops started to search the Green Wood for the band.

He also wanted to show off his new kilt and jacket. Fed up of having to wear long skirts and not trusting that his disguise would hold up to close examination if he started to wear trousers, Giles had come up with the idea of wearing a kilt and 'hose'. After all Highlanders had wore the kilt into battle even as recently as the Second World War, so why shouldn't he? The kilt was shorter than a normal skirt so wouldn't get his legs caught up in it if it got wet. Plus, it was a little more manly than wearing a skirt. Although he'd thought that he could rise above such things as 'male ego' for the common good he'd found that wearing a skirt all the time was starting to affect his morale.

As a result he'd gone to a local tailor and had her make him a kilt. The woman was familiar with the design, but suggested that Giles might want to wear a kilt made in the Irish style and colour. It appeared that in this future the Irish and the English were firm allies against the Scots and the French. Walking around in a Scottish tartan kilt would probably get him lynched, whilst wearing an Irish kilt would likely only get him a hangover from the drinks he'd be bought; Irish soldiers fighting against the French were also very popular with village girls.

So, Giles had his kilt made, it was a dark mustard yellow in colour, much the same colour as that favoured by Irish soldiers. He'd also had a dark green jacket made, all the better for hiding in the woods, plus a sporran. The sporran had several uses not the least of which was to give him somewhere to keep his loose change. It also helped hide the fact that he was a man and gave him some added protection in hand-to-hand combat. On his head, now his hair had grown longer, he'd discarded the scarf he'd had to wear and taken to wearing a beret or tam-o-shanter as he'd found that the wide brimmed hat he'd worn originally tended to get knocked off when he was moving through the underbrush. Now feeling more confident and 'manly', Giles approached Bess with his latest improvements for the muskets they had.

“Bess,” Giles walked over to stand in front of the young woman as she sat outside her hut one morning, “I think you might be interested in this.”

“My, Rupertina!” she laughed as Giles produce the eighteen inch long triangular bladed weapon from the sheath on his belt, “That's a big one!”

“Indeed,” Giles agreed as he held up the weapon for Bess to see, “You see I'd been thinking...in melee combat our musket armed women have to use their muskets as clubs which is fine against other musketeers but not very effective against anyone on a horse, it was then I remembered about bayonets...”

“Bay-o-whats?” Bess grimaced as she stood up to examine Giles' weapon more closely, she frowned at the odd socket like grip and the way the blade was set to one side of the hilt.

“A bayonet,” Giles corrected, “its designed to fit on the end of a musket,” Giles took the musket he'd been carrying from his shoulder; placing the butt firmly on the ground before he fitted the bayonet over the muzzle, “With a bayonet,” Giles announced proudly, “each musketeer is her own pike-woman...”

“I say Giles!” Bess smiled, “What a bloody brilliant idea! With this, one of our musketeers can out reach an opponent armed with either a clubbed musket or sword, and its long enough to poke a horsewoman in the gut!”

“Exactly,” Giles continued, “while at the same time it doesn't stop our girl from firing and reloading her musket.”

“How did you think this up?” Bess wanted to know.

“Oh,” Giles shrugged modestly, “I didn't, I just remembered reading about it when I was at school.”

“Well whatever, its a good idea,” Bess congratulated him anyway, “here let me have a go!”

Giles handed the musket and bayonet over to Bess, she took hold of the weapon and immediately fell naturally into the 'charge bayonets' position.

“Its a little muzzle heavy with the blade fitted,” Bess pointed out, “but if we only fit the 'bayonet',” she looked to Giles to make sure she'd got the pronunciation right, “when needed it shouldn't be a problem...how would you fight with this?”

“Well, I'll need to think about that,” Giles admitted; although he was an expert in the use of many melee weapons because he had to train the slayer, bayonet fighting hadn't really come up. “But from what I can remember we can adapt some quarterstaff moves and unlike most other weapons the bayonet relies more on guts and enthusiasm, in fact trying to develop a formal style of fighting actually decreases its effectiveness.”

“Ah,” Bess nodded sagely, “aggression you mean?”

“Yes,” Giles replied with his own nod.

“You know Giles,” Bess said as she practiced a few lunges with the new weapons system, “this could give us a marked advantage against our foes even after we've defeated the False Queen.”

“How so?” Giles asked, he was fairly sure he knew what Bess meant but he wanted to be sure that he and Bess were on the same page.

“In a battle every commander has to juggle, horse, foot and guns,” Bess explained, “to make things worse still, she has to deal with the different capabilities of shot, bow and pike. Each has its strengths and weaknesses, each can win a battle but can't do it by themselves. Bows can shoot faster, further and more accurately than a musket, but it takes five years to make an average archer. Give me five hours and I'll give you a good musketeer. Over about fifty yards an arrow will bounce off a breast plate while a musket ball will go straight through all but the very thickest armour. Even if it doesn't penetrate, it will knock the wearer down and probably break a few of her ribs into the bargain. But when it comes to hand-to-hand there's nothing much better than 'push-of-pike' and no cavalry in its right mind is going to impale itself on a hedge of pike points.” Bess paused for a moment before continuing. “But with your bayonet,” she grinned enthusiastically at Giles, “each musketeer is her own pike-woman and if properly trained and aggressive, they should be able sweep away the enemy's foot and fend off their horse,” she looked at Giles as if he'd opened her eyes to all the secrets of the world, “We'll be able to slaughter the French...and the Scots. I'd love to see a battalion of wild Irish Gallowglass armed with these things...”

“Erm, I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves here, Bess,” Giles pointed out, “first we have to put the Rightful Queen back on the throne.”

“Oh yes of course, but...” Bess' eyes glazed over as her mind's eye pictured the victories against the hated Scots and French unfold before her.

It was at this point that it suddenly occurred to Giles that Bess seemed a lot more knowledgeable about leading an army than even a well educated Ensign might. Never mind, he told himself before explaining a few other things he'd remembered. He had no great love for the French so had no problems about plotting their downfall.

“There's other improvements we can make,” Giles and Bess sat down on a log together.

“There are?” Bess asked excitedly, “Tell me!”

“Minié balls...”

“Mini-balls?” Bess frowned.

“Erm...no, expanding bullets,” Giles explained, “when fired they form a better gas seal which gives our muskets more range and even without rifling more accuracy...”

“That would be good,” Bess gave a quiet chuckle, “even at eighty yards you have to be pretty unlucky to be hit by a musket ball that was actually aimed at you!”

“And then there's paper cartridges which will improve our rate of fire and...” Giles didn't get a chance to explain any of the other things that would help bring the French and Weasel Scots low.

“Mistress Rupertina! Mistress Rupertina!”

“I do wish she wouldn't call me that,” Giles sighed.

“Oh poor Giles,” Bess whispered with faux sympathy unknowingly, once more, sounding a lot like Buffy used to.

“Mistress Rupertina!” Little Joan called for a third time as she dragged a struggling woman dressed in a nun's habit into the centre of of the camp drawing a crowd as she did.

“Apart from a nun,” Giles replied tiredly, he was beginning to regret saving Joan Little's life, “what have you caught this time?”

“I caught 'er skulking at the edge of the camp,” despite her great size Little Joan could move surprisingly quickly and quietly. “she's obviously a spy...can I eat 'er?”

“No you may _not_ eat her, now put her down this instant,” Giles ordered.

With an ill grace, Little Joan, who up until now had been holding the struggling woman by the back of her habit and about three feet off the ground, placed the nun back onto her feet.

“I'm sure that woman has more than a little demon in her,” Giles whispered to Bess.

“A little? You think Giles?” Bess replied in a low voice again sounding so much like Buffy that Giles had to look to check that his old slayer wasn't standing next to him. “I'd guess that her mother had a _big_ bit of demon in her!”

“So,” Giles addressed the nun, “what's your name and what's your business here?”

“You should keep your monster on a leash!” exclaimed the nun as she straightened her habit and stared defiantly in Giles' direction.

“Whether Little Joan needs to be on a leash or not is beside the point my good woman,” Giles replied, “now answer my question or perhaps you'd prefer it if Joan should ask you?”

“Erm...no...no thanks,” the nun appeared to have regained some of her dignity and all her self preservation; she was short, round and what hair pocked out from under her wimple was turning grey, her habit was black with a wide brown leather belt around her ample middle, the sheath for her knife was empty as, no doubt, was the purse that hung from her belt.

“I'm Sister Tuck...” began the woman.

“Tuck?” there was a snigger from the back of the crowd, “Tuck?” repeated the voice, “That sounds a lot like fu...”

“I distinctly said _Tuck_ ,” Sister Tuck eyed the outlaws with a gimlet gaze, “I was Chaplin to Lady Margaret, the Duchess of Northumbria, until a week ago when the Duchess sent me to find Bess Fairweather and give her a message...”

“And your message is?” Bess asked as she stepped forward.

“How do I know you're the real Bess Fairweather?” Tuck asked reasonably.

“The Duchess has a strawberry birthmark on her right thigh, correct?” Bess asked and got a nod from Tuck, “Now, how am I to tell if you're a spy working for the Sheriff of Southampton?”

“Dollie the shepherdess and her dog Shep send you their love,” Tuck replied without hesitation.

“Good enough,” Bess replied blushing pinkly, “now what's your message?”

“The Queen, may her soul roast in hell for the First's entertainment,” Tuck began, “stole away the Duchess' eldest daughter, the Lady Marian, and is holding her in the castle at Lyndhurst.”

“Oh by The Lady!” Bess gasped in shock.

“You know this Lady Marian?” Giles wanted to know.

“Erm, yes, sort of,” Bess replied hurriedly, “Lady Marion is betrothed to the Rightful Queen!”

There was a gasp from the outlaws and their girlfriends as they pressed in closely to hear what Sister Tuck had to say; it was obvious to Giles that this Lady Marion person must be well known and pretty popular. Mind-you, Giles smiled to himself, almost anyone was popular compared to Queen Diana.

“Further more,” Tuck went on, “it is rumoured that the Queen, may her tits rot and fall off and her hair fall out, plans to give the Lady Marion to The Guy of Gizbourne to be his partner in his unholy rites!”

The gasps of the crowd changed to boos, hisses and cries of anger along with demands that Bess lead them to Lyndhurst to rescue Lady Marion.

“The Lady Marion,” Bess spoke loudly so everyone could hear, “is the Duchess' daughter and the rightful Queen's betrothed,” she recapped for those who'd not been paying attention, “the Duchess has always been faithful to the Rightful Queen and a strong bulwark against the Weasel Scot!” 

The outlaws and their girlfriends, wives and children cheered lustily.

“As loyal subjects of the Rightful Queen, we cannot allow the Lady Marion to be used in such a vile and despicable way,” Bess called out, “we must ride to Lyndhurst and rescue her!”

“HUZZAH!” cried the outlaw band, “HUZZAH!” cried their wives, girlfriends and children.

“Well that's unanimous,” Giles said his hands on his hips, “but how are we going to get into Lyndhurst, someone's bound to spot us.”

“It just so happens,” Tuck stepped forward, “that the Sheriff is holding a sports, archery and musketry competition in Lyndhurst on Saturday afternoon before the regular weekend football match...”

“Ah-ha!” Bess cried out, “We can disguise ourselves as wandering sportswomen and infiltrate the town and then at my signal we strike and rescue Lady Marion!”

“Wandering sportswomen?” Giles frowned, “I think it'll need a little more planning than that,” he pointed out, “but as long as the Sheriff's soldiers haven't had their Weetabix, I don't see why it shouldn't work!”

“Weetabix?” queried, Bess, Joan and Tuck.

0=0=0=0


	9. Chapter 9

_Rupertina Giles, Rupertina Giles, could be in a fix.  
Rupertina Giles, Rupertina Giles spies the Weetabix!  
Should she retreat back to the woods?  
Course she should, course she should, course she should!_

*

*: Highlight and right click to hear the real version.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XOvVz8zwxc 

**Lyndhurst, that very Weekend.**

Giles had been right when he'd said that rescuing the Lady Marian would need a better plan than just dashing into the castle and running off with her. However, by Thursday evening they had a workable plan, mainly conceived by Bess, and by Friday morning small groups of outlaws were heading towards Lyndhurst. Once there they infiltrated the town in the guise of contestants for the Sheriff's competition or as people who'd simply come to watch; the outlaws would stay in their groups so as not to draw the attention of the Sheriff's soldiers to any one large group of strangers in town.

Once the time was right and Bess gave the signal, she, Sister Tuck and a dozen of the band's best hand-to-hand fighters would storm the keep, take on the guards and rescue the Lady Marian. While this was going on Giles, Little Joan and the rest of the outlaw band would start a riot and draw the Sheriff's soldiers onto them and hopefully away from the castle. It was a simple plan, as all the best plans were, simplicity meant there was less to go wrong which it always did no matter how careful you were or how many contingency plans you made.

Most of the planning was done my Bess with only a few helpful hints and suggestions from Giles. Although Giles knew that slayers had a natural ability to come up with plans of action; even Buffy was able to come up with plans that generally worked, there was something about Bess that Giles couldn't put his finger on. In its simplest form, she seemed to have a knack for command, more of a 'knack' than you'd expect from someone who claimed to be just a junior officer in the Queen's Lifeguard. To begin with it was like she expected to be obeyed, when she gave an order there was no doubt or hesitation in her voice and stranger still people responded to her in a positive way. Once the present emergency was over, Giles intended to have a long quiet talk to Ensign Bess Fairweather. Apart from anything else Giles was becoming more and more certain that 'Bess Fairweather' wasn't Bess' real name and that she held a rank much higher than that of a lowly Ensign.

0=0=0=0

**Friday Afternoon, Lyndhurst.**

Walking along the road, Giles and Little Joan came to the edge of the forest and caught their first sight of Lyndhurst. The town was surrounded by cottages much like the ones he'd seen in Brockenhurst. From his vantage point on a low hill outside the town, he could see that as you got closer to the middle of the town the houses appeared to be more substantial and made out of stone rather than wood, thatch and white-washed plaster. In the centre of the town, glimpsed over the roofs of the houses and the trees that grew between them, Giles and his companion could see the castle itself. It was an imposing building with an outer wall and an inner keep, no doubt there were other buildings within the castle precinct that were too low to be seen behind the walls.

“Mistress Rupertina,” rumbled Little Joan, “the flyer said the competition is to be 'eld on the sports field behind the castle...we should go and register there.”

“Please will you stop calling me 'Mistress Rupertina'!” Giles replied a little testily as he looked up into the woman's face, she grinned down at him.

“Then what should I be a-calling you?” Joan shrugged her massive shoulders, “Isn't Mistress Rupertina your name?”

“Well yes,” Giles admitted before adding, “But to tell the truth I've never really liked the name Rupertina...” which was nothing but the truth, “...just call me 'Giles' hmm?”

“Mistress Giles?” Little Joan asked and Giles thought he could detect just a little malicious 'Mickey taking' in her voice, Joan was nowhere near as slow and simple as she liked to have you believe.

“No just 'Giles' will do,” Giles replied.

“Oh...” Joan appeared to be thinking this over for a moment or two, “...I don't think that's quite right just a-calling you 'Giles'. How would it look if a servant simply called her mistress by her family name...” Joan smirked but tried to hide it, “...I mean things like that can cause society to crumble into confusion and vice with no one knowing where they stood in the world.”

“Just call me Giles,” Giles sighed heavily, “we'll risk the effects on the order of things...”

“Easy for you to say... _Giles_ ,” this time the smirk on Joan's face was easily perceived.

“Right!” Giles said in a tone that brooked no argument, “Lets get on shall we?” they started to walk towards the town again until Giles held up his hand and brought the couple to a halt, “I say, no one's going to recognise you are they? I mean you're pretty unforgettable.”

“Yes I know,” Joan tossed her long hair over her shoulder and looked smug for a moment, “my natural beauty does leave its mark on people's memories.”

“Along with the marks left by your quarterstaff,” Giles pointed out.

“Well,” once again Joan shrugged, “I can't say ye 'aven't got a point there,” she admitted, “but, I only rarely go into towns an' to the best of my recollection I've never been to Lyndhurst...what about ye?”

“Me?” Giles pointed to himself, “No, I've never been to Lyndhurst and I doubt that any of the Sheriff's soldiers has ever caught a good look at my face, so, I think we're fairly safe.”

“Good,” Joan muttered loudly as they started out again, “now its time to for some fun!”

0=0=0=0

There were no walls around Lyndhurst so Giles and Joan were able to walk into town without having to explain their presence to any guards on the town gate. Now he was actually in the town, Giles could see the houses more clearly. The first thing that struck him was how the older houses appeared to have been built out of materials salvaged from even older buildings, he pointed this out to Joan.

“They were built from the ruins of the Lyndhurst that stood here before the First rained ruin on the world,” the big woman explained, “Did ye not see the ruins to the east of the town as we walked in?”

“No,” Giles shook his head, “no I didn't...I'd like to take a look if we have time.”

“As ye wish,” Joan's huge shoulders rose and fell, “You're the _Mistress_...”

“Yes I am, aren't I?” Giles replied through gritted teeth.

They stepped from the busy, narrow street that wound between the houses and out into a wide, cobbled, market place full of stalls selling fresh produce and manufactured goods. The market place was bustling with women and children, Giles realised that he'd not seen this many people all together in one place since he'd arrived in this world of the future.

“I don't suppose you know how many people live in the British Isles do you?” Giles asked with little hope of getting an answer.

“In England?” Joan thought hard for a moment, “Maybe three or four million, in Scotland there's perhaps just over one-and-a-half million the same in Erin.”

“So around seven or eight million at most,” Giles thought for a moment, in his time there'd been well over fifty million people in England alone.

“'bout that,” Joan nodded, “why'd you want to know?”

“Just wondering that's all,” Giles pointed to a short line of women who appeared to be queuing outside a large impressive looking stone building, he pointed the women out to Joan, “What's going on over there?”

“Oh,” Joan gave a short bark of laughter, “that's the court house where they keep the town Guys...” she smiled licentiously, “...those women are all paying their half-crown to use one of the Guys.”

“Use...?” for a moment Giles was unsure what Joan meant but realisation soon dawned, “Oh!” he mumbled, “I see...”

“Ye don't want to use a Guy do 'e?” Joan asked straight faced, “I mean your not _that_ old, but if ye want to start a family I wouldn't leave it much longer.”

“No I don't want to start a family,” Giles replied tight lipped.

“Didn't think you did,” Joan replied almost too quietly for Giles to hear.

“Come on,” Giles started to head off in the direction of the sports field, he'd spotted a sign pointing the way earlier, “we should go and register.”

“Right behind ye... _Giles_.” Joan almost managed to completely hide her grin.

0=0=0=0

The sports field was surrounded by a stoutly build four rail fence about five feet high. At each corner and half way down the long sides of the pitch were entrances each guarded by three or four soldiers in red coats over white shirts and dark grey breaches, light grey socks and black shoes completed their uniforms. The soldiers appeared to be armed with nothing more dangerous than swords much shorter than the rapier on Giles' hip. Each entrance also had a table complete with pens and inkwells to go with the stacks of paper; obviously these were the registration forms for the games.

“'as it ever bothered ye as to why the Sheriff is 'olding these games?” Joan asked quietly as they approached one of the tables, “I mean she's not exactly noted for supporting local sports.”

“Now you mention it, no...” Giles had to stop talking as he was almost right in front of soldiers now.

“Good day to 'e mistress,” a soldier with two white strips on the right sleeve of her jacket called pleasantly, “come to try your 'and at the games?” She eyed the musket on Giles' shoulder and his kilt, “Irish are we?,” the corporal sorted out an unused form from the pile on the table, “can 'e read and write English?”

“Perfectly well, I assure you,” Giles replied haughtily as he studied the form in front of him, he frowned, it did seem a little too detailed to be completely innocent.

“Ah!” the corporal smiled again, “Anglo-Irish I see, sorry no offence intended, but a lot of Irish soldiers who can read an' write their own language can't read English...an' why should they?”

Giles looked at the lettering on the form and decided it was just a little different from the English he knew, but with his knowledge of languages he'd work it out easily enough.

“I expect you're going to try your luck at the musketry competition?” the corporal asked.

“Indeed,” Giles replied as he filled out the form giving a false name and address, it had occurred to him that Joan's suspicions might be well founded.

The questions on the form seemed far too detailed for a registration form for a simple competition. If the form was filled out correctly the Sheriff and her clerks would know were every fighter in the New Forest lived and what weapons they held.

“And you madam?” the corporal turned her attention to Joan, “I'm guessing you'd like to enter the quarterstaff competition.”

“Aye I would,” growled Joan as she too looked at one of the forms and frowned, “is there a form filling competition too?”

“Ha!” smiled the corporal, “No, but if I were a betting woman I'd put all my week's pay on 'e winning the quarterstaff.”

“You'd not lose,” Joan replied, “do I have to fill in one of these,” she waved the form under the corporal's nose.

“I'm sorry,” the corporal shrugged helplessly, “it's required...”

“I'll fill it in for you,” Giles offered as he finished his own form.

“Thanks... _Giles_ ,” Joan replaced the form on the desk and stood to one side.

“Erm...” the corporal said quietly to Giles, “...is she your servant?”

“More of a companion,” Giles explained as he filled in Joan's registration form with false information.

“Excuse me for asking,” the corporal went on in the same low voice, “but are 'e _involved_?”

“Involved?” Giles looked up into the soldier's hopeful face, “With Joan? HA!” he laughed, “No,” he shook his head, “If you want to ask her out on a date go ahead, she's free to do as she likes...”

“Right! Thank-you madam,” the corporal was all business again as she tidied away the forms, “well good luck for tomorrow, ladies.”

Walking away from the corporal and her forms, Giles and Joan walked around the sports field as if they were just looking the place over.

“I think you're in with a chance there,” Giles said with a slight smirk on his lips.

“What?” Joan frowned down at him.

“The pretty corporal back there,” Giles jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “I think she _likes_ you.”

“She does?” Joan cast a glance over her own shoulder to see the corporal looking in her direction, “Yes I think she does...didn't I say that my beauty left its mark on people?”

“Yes you did,” Giles agreed, “but I didn't completely believe you until now.”

After polishing his glasses, Giles squinted up at Joan; he found he had to admit that she wasn't ugly, but she definitely wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense...she had 'character' he decided, plus there was an awful lot of her.

“Come on,” Giles gestured towards where a grandstand stood on the opposite side of the sports field, “we better give this place the once over, I expect that'll be where the big wigs will be sitting.”

On reaching the grandstand, Giles and Joan found it wasn't guarded so they were able to walk in through the rear entrance and look around.

“Only one exit,” Joan pointed out, “it'll be easy to trap people in 'ere.”

“Unless they climb out the front,” Giles replied, “I'd say you could get about a hundred people in here.”

“Agreed,” Joan nodded; the grandstand had ranked seats and a roof all made of wood, “we could always burn it down with the people inside.”

“I was hoping to keep casualties to a minimum,” Giles pointed out as he turned to leave.

“If ye say so,” Joan shrugged, “but there's a lot to be said for a good fire.”

“I'll bear it in mind,” Giles led the way out to the back of the grandstand and pointed towards the castle, “lets go see what the castle's like from this side, eh?”

“You're the boss,” Joan nodded before following Giles towards the great, grey, stone castle.

0=0=0=0

Standing well back from a window high in the keep's wall, Gizbourne had lived too long to let something like a stray ray of sunshine turn him to ash, he looked out over the sports field. He'd not been able to sleep the sleep of the undead today and he was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do with himself before darkness fell. The Sheriff kept him on a tight leash and controlled who he could torture and feed on, but it wasn't so bad, he knew when he was onto a good thing so he didn't push at the rules he was supposed to follow too much, at least not for now. Whilst under the Sheriff's protection he also didn't have to spend his life dodging slayers or demons with long memories and who were out for his blood. Looking out the window again, he saw two figures walking around the field and towards the castle. One was an incredibly large woman while the other seemed older, shorter and was wearing an Irish kilt.

There was something about the Irish woman that jogged a memory in Gizbourne's mind. Getting as close to the window as he dared without bursting into flames, he stared out of the window in something approaching horror. Yes the hair was longer and mostly hidden under that ridiculous beret and then there was the kilt thing, but a beret and kilt couldn't hide the real identity of the man down by the sports field.

“Bloody hell,” Spike gasped as he dodged away from the window for fear that he might be spotted, “As I don't live and breath...Rupert Giles...and I bet that monster with him is his new slayer!”

0=0=0=0


	10. Chapter 10

**Lyndhurst Castle.**

“Bloody hell!” Spike cried as he looked from the window, “What did I do to fuckin' deserve this?”

He actually knew what he'd done, several hundred years of leaving blood drained bodies behind him had lead him to this point, in future, if he had a future, he'd be more careful about covering his tracks. Turning away from the window Spike rushed across the room to the door. Opening the heavy portal he looked out into the corridor and caught sight of one of his own soldiers.

“Where's the bloody Sheriff?” he demanded only to get an indifferent shrug in reply, “Useless French bint!” he exclaimed to the woman before heading off down the corridor in search of the Sheriff.

0=0=0=0

“Well,” Giles and Joan walked out of the kitchen door and back out into the late afternoon sunshine, “that looks like the best route into the castle,” he looked up at Joan, “you agree?”

“Aye,” nodded the giantess, “they're probably 'olding this 'ere Lady Marion in the dungeons.”

“So there may well be a way from the kitchens to the dungeons,” Giles paused for a moment, “I wish we could be sure.”

“Well,” Joan shrugged her massive shoulders, “I suppose one of us could get arrested, thrown into the dungeons an' see if this 'ere Lady Marion is down there.”

“Not a plan I'd like to try,” Giles replied, “and anyway if we did find Lady Marion how would we get the information back out to Bess...?”

“Talking of Bess,” Joan said as the two outlaws stepped out onto the grass surrounding the sports field, “'ave ye noticed how 'in charge' she is?”

“You've noticed that as well?” Giles looked up at the castle's defences as he spoke.

“Aye I have,” Joan joined Giles in looking up at the keep, “I'm thinking there's more to our Bess than meets the eye...what are ye a-looking at?”

“Thought I saw someone at that window,” Giles pointed to the windows near the top of the keep, “but it must have been a trick of the light...anyway, our Bess, I don't think she's been telling us the whole truth about how she came to be in Brockenhurst.”

“Ye don't think she's an agent o' the False Queen do ye?”

“Oh nothing like that,” Giles reassured his companion, “I'm sure Bess is dead against Queen Diana and for the Rightful Queen...” a thought crossed Giles' mind at this point, “...erm...it occurs to me that no one has ever mentioned the Rightful Queen's name whilst in my hearing.”

“Why would they need to?” Joan demanded, “Everyone knows the real Queen's name and only ever calling her the Rightful Queen is in case the False Queen's spies are a-listening, then the speaker can claim she's talking about Queen Diana, clever, eh?” Joan smiled down at Giles, “I mean only a Guy wouldn't know what the Rightful Queen's name is, wouldn't 'e? I mean, you're not a Guy are you _Mistress_ Giles?”

“Oh most definatly not!” Giles replied quickly thinking he'd better change the subject, “Talking of Bess, we better get along and find her, what's the name of the pub where we're supposed to meet her and Tuck?”

“The sign of the Red Bull,” Joan rumbled.

0=0=0=0

“Sheriff!” Spike called out as he burst into the Sheriff's personal quarters.

“What is this intrusion?” the Sheriff cried as she turned her head to see Spike standing on the threshold of her room, “How dare you disturb my nightly feeding?”

“Nightly?” Spike cast his eye towards a window, it was still only late afternoon and the Sheriff was tucking into meat and two veg with jelly and custard for afters.

“Whatever,” shrugged the Sheriff, “now why have you burst in to my chambers without even a 'by-your-leave'?”

“We've got trouble,” Spike said breathlessly, which was a neat trick for someone who didn't have to breath, so never got out of breath.

“Trouble?” the Sheriff put down her knife and fork.

“Trouble with a capital 'T', which rhymes with 'Watcher',” Spike continued as he came to stand in front of the Sheriff's dining table.

“No it doesn't,” said the Sheriff firmly.

“Doesn't what?” Spike asked slightly confused.

“'Trouble' doesn't rhyme with 'Watcher',” the Sheriff informed him, “and any way apart from a few mad, old nuns in Wales all the Watcher's are long dead.”

“Then why did I see one not five minutes ago?” Spike wanted to know.

“Perhaps you were hallucinating, too much alcohol in the blood perhaps?”

“I wish it was,” Spike started to pace but was brought up short by a beam of sunlight the shone across the Sheriff's room. 

“Right, assuming that you weren't on drugs or pissed,” sighed the Sheriff still slightly annoyed at having her meal interrupted, “what makes you think that whoever you saw was a 'Watcher'?”

“I recognised his face.”

“His?”

“Yeah, 'his'!” Spike snapped back, “Rupert, bloody, Giles, the bloody one time Watcher of Buffy, bloody, Summers the last bloody slayer from before...” Spike made vague gestures in the air as he tried to get over the idea of a 'very long time ago'.

“Oh don't be silly,” the Sheriff laughed, “that was hundreds of years ago, anyone who lived then must be dead by now...”

“I'm still here,” Spike pointed out.

“Oh feck...” sighed the Sheriff as she buried her face in her hands, why did these things always happen to her?

0=0=0=0

“There they are,” Giles pointed across the main room of the Red Bull pub to where Bess and Tuck sat with Ellen Dale and Willow Scarlet.

Letting Joan lead the way and plough her way through the crowd, Giles soon found himself sitting down between Bess and Ellen.

“What news?” Bess asked, she was hiding the lower half of her face in the folds of a scarf and had dipped her hat so a shadow fell across the upper part of her face, but nothing could hide her fiery red hair.

“We've found away into the kitchens,” Giles explained, “from there you should be able to find your way to wherever they're holding Lady Marion.”

“I spoke to one of the kitchen maids,” said Ellen Dale, “she said the Lady Marion was being held in the highest room of the highest tower.”

“Ha! Kitchen gossip,” Giles pooh-poohed the idea.

“I'll be meeting her later tonight,” Ellen smiled, “I'll give her a rub and see what more information I can get out of her.”

All the women around the table sniggered at this wordplay.

“Oh good grief,” Giles groaned quietly to himself, “I've fallen into lesbian hell.”

“What was that, _Mistress_?” Joan asked innocently.

“Oh nothing,” Giles shook his head before continuing, “wherever she's being held, I still think our best way of finding her is to go into the castle through the kitchens. They're unlikely to block the route between the sports stand and the kitchens, there's bound to be guests to entertain.”

“But if they do,” Wil' Scarlet piped up, “what do we do then?”

“Find another way in,” Bess said coldly, “whatever happens we have to rescue the Lady Marion tomorrow.”

0=0=0=0

“...and just who exactly is this 'Maid Marion' bird?” Spike asked as he eyed one of the Sheriff's three page-girls hungrily.

“The Lady Marion is the eldest daughter of the Duchess of Northumbria, one of the Queen's most intractable enemies.”

“And I'm supposed to sire her, why?” 

“So she will kill her mother and the Queen will be able to control the Northern Shires through the new Duchess,” the Sheriff explained.

“There must be simpler ways of going about this,” Spike smiled at one of the girls and watched her turn pale at the sight of his fangs.

“Oh there probably is,” the Sheriff shrugged, “but you know the Queen.”

“Too bloody right I do,” Spike admitted; Queen Diana had always reminded him a little of Harmony, but without the organisational abilities or intelligence.

“We can but serve our monarch,” the Sheriff pointed out with as a ghost of a smile crossed her lips, “and you've not done too badly out of the Queen's reign.”

“Yeah, but...” Spike had to admit that he had done pretty well out of the present set up so it was really in his interests to go along with the Sheriff and her friend's plans for the Queen. “Shouldn't I just do this Marion bird now?” Spike wanted to know, “I'm feeling pretty peckish anyway and we could get it over with right quick like?”

“No,” the Sheriff shook her head, “Marion must be seen by the peasants to be enjoying herself with our faction. With the prizes I've been offering for the winners tomorrow there'll be crowds from far and wide,” the Sheriff laughed at her own sneakiness, “Once the news gets around that Marion has joined our faction then her killing off her mothers won't come as such a big surprise.” The sheriff smiled evilly, “And in the mean time,” she grabbed hold of one of her page-girls and pushed her towards Spike, “if you're feeling hungry suck on this, but...don't kill or sire her, good page-girls are hard to find these days...MAW-HA-HA!”

“Oh good grief,” Spike sighed quietly just before sinking his fangs into the weakly struggling page-girl's neck.

0=0=0=0

“So, this is what I've become?” Spike asked as he stood on the windswept battlements of the highest tower in Lyndhurst castle later that night.

Not that the tower was particularly high or the castle very impressive, but here he was, biting girls on the neck to serve the plans of The Queen. To be honest he would much rather be biting Diana on the neck and sucking her as dry as the Sahara. But he wouldn't, because...because when he really got down to it he'd never had it so good. He was protected by the highest in the land. He had his own manor down on the coast, he even had his own private army and all he had to do was sire a few of the Queen's enemies. He often wondered about the Queen because the once or twice he'd actually met her she didn't seem quite right in the head to him.

He'd died in the cavern with Buffy fighting to hold back the First, that much Spike remembered and understood, what he didn't understand was what had happened next. He'd woken up in a burning Los Angeles as a ghost and minus his newly reacquired soul. Over a period of four or five years he'd wandered through the ruins of the city as he slowly regained corporeal form. Once fully whole again he'd gone back to his old vampiric ways as he'd travelled across America while it had plunged itself into chaos and civil war. Eventually he'd found his way to Washington DC and managed to get himself flown out of the country aboard the last military transport heading for Britain.

Arriving back in his homeland, Spike had waited out the centuries feeding on the locals until such time as the present Queen came to power. Now he was a power in the land, someone useful to the rulers of the country. But sometimes, in the wee, small hours of the morning before the sun shone over the horizon, he wondered if it would all last, perhaps it was time for him to change sides. He'd done it before and he couldn't see any real reason why he couldn't do it again.

0=0=0=0

Saturday morning broke clear and bright, a perfect day for sports and high-jinks. The outlaws had spent a restful night camped out in several different pubs and barns around the town. Giles had shared a room with Bess in the Red Bull pub and after a good breakfast they had gathered their gear together and gone out to find the rest of the band. After sending messages to all the groups of outlaws they met for a final briefing in a small wood just outside the town.

“It looks like our enemies have made our lives easier,” Bess told the outlaw band, “Thanks to Ellen who risked life, limb and a good night's sleep to get the information,” Bess smirked, “It seems that the Sheriff and through her the Queen want people to see the Lady Marion consorting with members of the Queen's faction. No doubt they intend to twist the fair Marion to their will for their own perverted reasons.”

There was a low, angry murmur from the outlaws at this news.

“So, to let everyone see how the Lady Marion has thrown in her lot with the False Queen, she'll be joining the Sheriff as her honoured guest,” Bess explained.

“Down with the Sheriff!” cried the outlaws, “Down with the False Queen!”

“This means we won't have to storm the castle,” Bess explained, “we'll stick with the original plan except while Mistress Giles and Little Joan organise the riot...” Bess looked over at Giles, “...just how do you intend to do that, Auntie?”

“I've had some ideas,” Giles replied, “all I need is for everyone to follow Joan and my lead.”

“You hear that,” Bess called, “whatever else you do today, follow my Aunt's lead. Now, while Auntie Giles is causing riot and mayhem, myself, Sister Tuck, Ellen Dale and Will Scarlet will make our way over to the grandstand and snatch the Lady Marion from under the very nose of the wicked Sheriff of Southampton!”

“HUZZAH!” cried the outlaws lustily.

“Save your 'huzzahs' for when we're all back in the Green Wood,” Bess cautioned, “now the games a foot, to your positions lasses!”

0=0=0=0

Watching from the castle walls, Lady Catherine, also known as The Sheriff of Southampton, watched as the unwashed masses made their way to the sports field. Shifting her eyes to where a fair sized crowd had already taken their places around the field, she could see many of the contestants already warming up. The morning would be taken up with field sports; running races, jumping the ditch, tug o' war and other traditional village sports. Late morning would be the start of the archery and musketry competitions with the final shoot-offs taking place after lunch. The last event of the day would be a football match between the Sheriff's own team of Southampton Rovers and the Bishop of Bournemouth's First eleven. After that the ravels would begin and by midnight the Sheriff doubted that any of the towns-women or the peasants from the surrounding villages would be sober.

But, no matter how much beer they'd drunk, everyone would remember seeing that the famous and ever popular, Lady Marion had changed sides. Of course they would only if what William, (who some called 'The Bloody') The Guy of Gizbourne had told her didn't come to pass. He'd warned her of this ancient Watcher, which meant there had to be at least one slayer around; Watchers went no where without at least one slayer in tow. But the Sheriff was fairly confident that her troops and personal guards could deal with any slayer, the firearms her troops carried were a great leveller where slayers were concerned. But if her troops failed her, she could always deal with some simple village slayer by herself.

0=0=0=0


	11. Chapter 11

_The sound of hoof beats across the glade,  
Good lady lock your wife and daughters.  
Beware her deadly flashing blade,  
Unless you want end up shorter.  
Blackadder, Blackadder she rides a pitch black steed.  
Blackadder, Blackadder, is very bad indeed!_

*

A song about Lady Edwina Blackadder.

**Lyndhurst Castle, Sports Field.**

The musketry competition was almost over, in fact it was now down to the last few shots. As long as his weapon didn't misfire and he hit the target, Giles would win. As a boy Giles had never exactly been 'sporty', yes he'd enjoyed a game of football, but that was all it was to him, a 'game'. He'd never had the passion for football that most boys his age had had; his passion was for the written word. However, his training with the Council of Watchers had given him a knowledge of weapons that would have amazed his old school friends.

The competition had started before the lunch time break, each competitor had a target made up of a dozen earthenware pots set in a frame about fifty to sixty paces away. The objective was simple, to smash the pots in the fastest time possible while using as few shots as possible. Giles had come in third in this heat and had therefore gone on to the next where the pots where smaller. Again Giles came in third and progressed to the final heat after the midday break. In the final shoot the last three contestants had a limited supply of ammunition to hit the pots. With one pot left to go Giles had two musket balls left. Although it didn't matter if he won, as long as he came in the top three shooters and was awarded a medal, the plan to rescue the Lady Marion could go a head. He also had his pride to think about, so he was going do his best and go for gold.

Checking that his flint was firmly set and the powder in the priming pan was dry, Giles glanced up and around as if he was gauging the wind, in fact he was checking on the position of Bess and the Merry Women. Over to his right he could see Bess, Tuck, Ellen and Will' waiting for the chance to jump over the barrier and into the grandstand before snatching Lady Marion away. Looking to his left he could see other members of the outlaw band move themselves into positions at the front of the crowd where they could attack the soldiers that stood at intervals around the pitch to keep the crowds back. Lastly he looked over his shoulder to see Little Joan standing a couple of yards behind him, she winked at him before he turned to look at the target again.

Lifting the musket to his shoulder he sighted on the last remaining pot. He knew if he put the fore sight (the weapon had no rear sight) on the base of the pot his ball should hit the body of the pot and smash it. Although Giles told himself he didn't _have_ to win, winning was always better, at least in sports it was. Taking a deep breath, Giles let it out slowly as he started to take up the pressure on the trigger. Holding the musket firmly into his shoulder he pulled back on the trigger and heard the mechanism click as the trigger released the spring that drove the hammer and flint forward.

The flint struck the frizzen and produced a shower of sparks as the priming powder was exposed. A spark hit the powder which burst into smoky flame sending a jet of fire through the touch hole to ignite the main charge. The butt of the musket slammed back into Giles' shoulder as the lead ball rattled down the barrel of his musket and flew from the muzzle to streak towards the pot. Moments later the ball hit the pot and smashed it into a dozen broken shards. Slightly stunned by the fact that he'd actually won something that wasn't academic, Giles was nearly knocked off his feet when Little Joan came up behind him and pounded him on his back as she congratulated him.

In this day and age it seemed that no one bothered with elaborate award ceremonies. As soon as the competition was over the three winners were marched over to the grandstand where the Sheriff would hand over their winner's medals. It reminded Giles of the rare occasions he'd watched the FA Cup on TV, at the end of the game the winning side was marched up into the stands to receive the Cup and their winner's medals from the Queen or some other important personage. Of course there was nothing so grand here. All the winners had to do was walk up a short ramp so they were standing in front of the Sheriff, shake hands with her and receive there medals. In a very short time Giles found himself being introduced to the Sheriff, who was looking slightly bored, Giles smiled, she wouldn't be bored for very much longer he told himself.

“Mistress O'Giles, m'lady,” a flunky whispered into the Sheriff's ear.

The Sheriff handed the medal to Giles who slipped it into his sporran before shaking hands with the Sheriff. Holding the woman's hand in a firm grip, Giles smiled into her eyes, he saw the woman's eyes go round as she started to realise that there was something odd going happening. Pulling with all his strength, Giles yanked the Sheriff half way over the low wooden wall that separated the great and good from the even greater unwashed. As the Sheriff hung half way over the partition, Giles lifted his knee and hit the woman in the nose. Cries of outrage split the air as Giles then brought up his musket and used the butt to hit the flunky in the mouth sending blood and teeth flying in all directions.

Behind him merry outlaws, grabbed soldiers from behind and wrestled them to the ground, while others started fights in the crowd. It only took a few minutes to turn what had been a fairly orderly sports meeting into chaos with women punching other women and children screaming as they either ran for cover or joined in. Over by the grandstand, Giles had dropped his musket and drawn his rapier and was now exchanging sword thrusts with a couple of the Sheriff's personal guards, this fight only lasted as long as it took Little Joan to run up and use her quarterstaff to knock out the two women. Just as Giles was wondering if he shouldn't climb over the barrier and grab the Lady Marion himself the door at the back of the stand burst open to reveal Bess, Tuck and the other Merry Women. Bess ran a guard through with her sword as she pushed her way into the struggling crowd of gentlewomen who'd got up from their seats at the first sign of trouble and were now heading for the exit which was of course blocked. A great scrum formed around the exit and Giles saw that Bess was being prevented from moving further into the stand by the struggling mass of women; some of whom weren't acting in a very lady-like way as they pushed and shoved their sisters out of the way in their hurry to escape.

“Come on, Joan!” Giles cried as he climbed over the barrier, “Follow me!”

Clambering over the partition, Giles had to pause to fight off an elderly woman in a blue dress who tried to brain him with an ornate silver wine jug. Punching the woman in the face, Giles knocked her out of the way and managed to get into the stand with Joan right behind him.

“Which one is she?” Joan called over the noise of screaming and yelling woman.

“There!” Giles pointed to a beautiful blonde girl who stood with a silly grin on her face as all around her people fought and tried to escape; it occurred to Giles that the Lady Marion must have been drugged.

Although he'd never seen Marion before, Bess had given him and the others of the snatch squad a detailed description. Wading into the struggling crowd, Giles used his weight and strength to force himself over to where the girl stood. Behind him Joan used her staff to hold back anyone who tried to slow Giles' progress. Just as he was within arms reach of the girl, Giles found himself confronted by a dark haired young woman dressed all in black leather. The woman reminded Giles of a sort of cross between Faith (in looks) and Blackadder (in style of dress) as she brought her rapier up into the en garde position. Giles had barely brought his own blade up to defend himself before he found himself fighting for his life against a woman who moved with almost blinding speed.

“JOAN!” Giles cried as he fended off sword thrusts aimed at his heart and face.

Turning, Joan saw Giles fighting desperately for his life, for just a moment she considered letting the black clad woman run her Mistress through, thus releasing her from her promise to serve Giles for a year and a day. However, Joan's better nature won out and she lifted her great staff and brought it whistling down on to where the black clad woman was standing only to find she'd moved.

“What the fu...!” Joan muttered only to have her words cut off when the dark haired woman jumped up and punched her in the mouth with the guard of her sword, “Oh bloody hell!” Joan exclaimed as she stumbled backwards and spat blood onto the boards.

However, Joan's pain wasn't for naught, in the time it had taken the leather clad woman to punch Joan, Giles had recovered himself and managed to run the woman through just under her ribs.

“Damn you!” Lady Blackadder cried as Giles' sword passed in and out of her, “You'll pay for that!”

Much to Giles' surprise the woman heaved herself to her feet and looked as if she was quite willing to attack him again until, that is, Joan hit her over the back of her head with her staff. Lady Blackadder dropped her sword and fell forward to lie groaning on the floor, Joan raised her staff to finish the woman once and for all.

“NO!” Giles managed to interpose himself between Joan and the downed woman, “We're not the Sheriff's followers...look,” Giles pointed to where Bess carried the Lady Marion towards the exit covered by Tuck, Ellen and Will, “we've got what we came for, its time to be away.”

Giving a reluctant growl of acknowledgement, Joan lowered her staff, she supposed Giles was right, but she'd not killed anyone today and a fight without her killing an opponent just wasn't satisfying.

“Quickly,” Giles called as he pushed his way towards the barrier separating the stand from the pitch, “we must give the signal to the others.”

Once down on the pitch again, Giles stood on the grass and watched the great struggling mass of fighting soldiers, and town's women. It would appear that a lot of people were using the riot as an excuse (if any was really needed) to settle old scores with their neighbours and the soldiers, while others appeared to be hitting people at random. It all looked like great fun with no one really getting badly hurt. However much 'fun' it might be, Giles knew he had to signal the Merry Women to disengage and make their way back to the Green Wood. Seeing his target Giles pushed his way through the struggling crowd towards his goal. He'd have never have made it without Joan's occasional assistance as she cleared the way with her staff. Very soon, Giles was at his destination, he stood over one of the open barrels of gunpowder that had been used during the musketry competition. Looking around he found a still lighted slow match, some of the contestants had been using matchlock weapons, picking it up he whipped the lighted end through the air until it glowed a bright, yellowish red.

“HAVE A CARE!” he yelled as he tossed the lighted match into the open top of the powder barrel.

The barrel had been heavily made and didn't at first explode. Instead a great plume of fire and billowing powder smoke shot up into the air with a hissing roar like some giant firework. Eventually the barrel gave way and failed to contain the explosive power of the gunpowder, a loud, deafening explosion split the air as people dropped to the ground to escape the flying chunks of burning barrel that scythed through the air. Climbing back to his feet, Giles couldn't remember actually diving for cover, but as he was alive and unhurt he supposed he must have, he looked around. The riot had stopped as most of the rioters were now either lying on the ground or running for their lives.

“MERRY WOMEN TO ME!” Giles yelled as loudly as he could, but he could hardly hear himself because of the ringing in his ears.

Slowly at first, but then with gathering speed women started to regain their feet and look around in a daze for a moment before that began to stagger towards Joan and Giles.

“MOVE IT YE WHORES!” Joan shouted in a voice like the crack of doom.

“YES!” Giles added his voice to Joan's, “Hurry up!”

Slowly a crowd of slightly concussed and not so merry women formed around Giles and Joan. After doing a quick head count, Giles decided that about three quarters of their force had arrived. Looking around for stragglers, he realised that it was time to go, anyone that was still alive and not here would have to make their own way back to camp. They simply couldn't wait because some of the soldiers were getting back to their feet and realising that there was something amiss. 

“Move! Move!” Giles and Joan started to push the still slightly dazed outlaws towards the edge of the pitch.

“Giles!” Joan's voice came to Giles' ear.

Turning he saw Joan stop and look back to where the soldiers were slowly forming ranks under an officer.

“I'll be back!” Joan called as she ran towards a red coated soldier who was just starting to push herself back to her feet.

“No!” Giles called after her, “We've no time for prisoners!”

Watching, Giles saw Joan pick up a soldier and throw her over her massive shoulder, with a glance to see if anyone was about to follow her, she ran off after Giles and the other outlaws.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Giles demanded as Joan drew level with him.

“Look,” Joan grinned; Giles did to find himself staring at the dazed face of the pretty young corporal from the day before.

“Oh good grief,” Giles sighed as he jogged along side Joan and they headed back to the Green Wood.

0=0=0=0

**Lyndhurst Castle.**

Sitting stripped to the waist on the edge of a table in her apartment, Lady Edwina Blackadder let her companion and sometime watcher, Erin O'Keeffe, bind up her wound. The sword thrust hadn't hit anything vital and in a few days the wound would heal and the scar would start to fade like they always did; it was all part of the 'slayer package' as the old books called it.

“Take it easy for the night, m'lady,” advised Erin, “no rolling servant girls between the sheets for you.”

“Be off with you!” Lady Blackadder laughed, “You're as bad as my mothers.”

“Well,” Erin replied as she collected her scissors, needles, thread and unused bandages together, “don't come crying to me when you burst your stitches and bleed to death.”

Watching as the woman left her room Lady Blackadder slipped her blood stained shirt back over her shoulders before walking over to the window and looking down at the sports field. The Sheriff wouldn't be holding any more events like this for quite some time, Edwina told herself, she also wouldn't be going out in public until her broken nose had healed. Lady Blackadder held no love for the Sheriff, the Queen or any of the Queen's faction, but with the Rightful Queen dead or imprisoned what could she do? There was a knock at her chamber door.

“Come!” Blackadder called even as her skin began to crawl at the presence without; snatching up a wooden stake she turned to face the door as it opened, “Gizbourne!” Blackadder snarled, “What brings your festering corpse to my room so early in the night?”

“Oh that's a nice way to greet someone,” Spike replied his feelings hurt, “especially someone who's come here and risked life and limb, to bring you a proposition...”

“A proposition?” Blackadder asked warily.

“Yeah,” Spike came through the door and closed it behind him, “something that'll benefit both of us...”

0=0=0=0

*: Highlight and right click to hear the real version.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3F37kQl9Uw


	12. Chapter 12

**Lyndhurst Castle.**

“A proposition?” Lady Blackadder asked warily.

“Yeah,” Spike walked into the room and closed the door behind him, “something that'll benefit both of us...”

“Tell me why I shouldn't just stake you where you stand?” Edwina asked as she toyed with the stake held lightly in her hand.

“Go on,” Spike invited as he held his arms wide as if inviting Lady Blackadder to plunge her stake into his chest, “If you think you're hard enough,” Spike gave a quiet laugh, “I'm hundreds of years old and I've lost track of how many slayers I've killed,” he shrugged, “Of course if you don't want to hear what I've got to say...” he left the question hanging as he looked around for somewhere to sit.

“Alright,” Edwina Blackadder put down her stake and walked over to the fireplace, resting her arm along the mantel piece she looked down at Spike, “You have to a count of thirty to tell me what your proposition is, if I like what you say I won't end you.”

“Yeah, right, whatever,” Spike smirked, “You know I was around before the First tried to destroy the world? In fact,” he continued his voice taking on a calculating tone, “I can remember when your name was just the name of a character on a TV show...”

“A what?” Edwina knew that her family name went back hundreds of years but its origins were lost in the mists of time.

“A TV show,” Spike tried to explain but only saw the blank look on Lady Blackadder's face, “It's sorta like a play...”

“You lie of course,” Edwina replied, “you're a toy of the First's so anything you say is a lie, I should end you now...”

“But you won't, will you?” Spike smirked, “Deep down you want to hear what I have to say, I'm right aren't I?”

Spike studied the young woman like only a vampire could, she reminded him of someone from long, long ago but he couldn't quite put his finger on who.

“I suppose I do,” Lady Blackadder admitted, “go on then speak, spread your vile lies.”

“Very gracious,” Spike chuckled, “alright then, here goes, you don't like Queen Diana do you?”

“You think I'd admit treason to one of the Queen's lap dogs?” Edwina shrugged, the truth was she hated the queen.

“Hey! I'm no lap dog,” Spike pointed out, “but you hate the queen an' you want the real Queen back on the throne...don't you?”

“If I do what difference would it make?” Edwina did love the true Queen, they'd been at school together; even if she wasn't a very good Queen, at least she'd fought against the Scots and French and didn't oppress or over tax the people; there were also rumours about the false Queen's night time habits with the young maids that worked in the castle. “The Queen is either dead or imprisoned in the Tower.”

“What if I were to say that the True Queen isn't dead or imprisoned?” Spike asked quietly, “What if I were to say that you'd been within an arm's reach of the True Queen today?”

“I'd say you were a liar who was trying to make me incriminate myself,” Edwina snapped and then in a quieter voice she asked, “And I'd also ask how you knew this...”

“I know,” once more Spike smirked, “because the Queen sent me here to kill or sire her...”

“Your were!?” Edwina moved away from the fireplace and looked down at Spike in shock, “Do you know where she is?”

“Well,” Spike chuckled, “she was here snatching Lady Marion away from under your very nose a few hours ago, but I expect she's somewhere in the Green Wood by now,” Spike admitted that he'd not got an exact location for the real queen, “but it wouldn't be difficult for a resourceful young woman like yourself to find her I'm thinking.”

“So,” Edwina moved across the room until she was looking out of the window and into the night, “I have to ask myself why'd you want me riding around the forest looking for the Queen? Could it be that you can't find her, if she's truly there and not dead in a ditch somewhere, so you want me to do your dirty work...”

“The First save me from self righteous bints!” Spike cried out as he stood up, “Look, I'm telling you where to look for the Queen so you can go off and rub your fannies together or whatever it is you want to do!”

“What I can't understand,” Edwina said as she turned to face Spike again, “is what you want out of this, what do you care who's on the throne as long as she doesn't come after you?”

“Well, I gotta admit there is some self interest on my behalf,” Spike shrugged, “evil vampire that's me but...”

“But?” Edwina raised an eyebrow waiting for Spike to continue.

“There's something off about this Queen Diana bird,” Spike explained, “I don't know what it is but she sorta reminds me of one of those plonkers who wants to bring about hell on Earth and bugger everything up for everyone else.”

“And you're trying to tell me that you don't want 'Hell on Earth?” Edwina asked as she walked over to where she'd left her best stake.

“Oh gods no!” Spike let out a bark of laughter, “Have you seen hell?” Edwina shook her head, “Very depressing, all that red,” he informed her, “and anyway I like things as they are now.”

“You do?” Edwina said with some surprise.

“What's there not to like?” Spike wanted to know, “Alright you don't get Manchester United on the telly any more but apart from that there's plenty to eat and the beer's better than its used to be so, yeah, I want things to stay like they are now...” he gave Edwina a calculating look, “...I also don't want people coming after me and I'm thinking that if I help put herself back on the throne the new Queen might cut me some slack. I mean there's a lot worse than me.”

“Enlightened self interest, eh?” Edwina nodded to herself, “I can understand that, so have you any firm knowledge of the True Queens location, where her camp or camps are?”

“All I know is she's definitely in the Green Wood,” Spike shrugged, “I'm guessing if you ride around for long enough she'll find you...”

“I see,” Edwina nodded again as her eyes focused on something or someone behind Spike, “that's it then, you've nothing more to tell me...”

“No I...!” Spike suddenly felt his arms being pinioned behind his back, “HEY!” he cried in surprise as he struggled to free himself, “BLOODY SLAYERS!” he cried as he saw Lady Blackadder snatch up her stake and lunge towards him, “Oh fuck!” he cried as the stake entered his heart and he turned to dust with a surprised look on his face.

“I could see how he was starting to annoy you, M'lady,” Erin O’Keeffe grinned at her mistress as she brushed vamp dust from her shirt and britches.

“Yes,” Edwina admitted, “he was growing rather tiresome, but did you hear what he said?”

“Most, M'lady,” Erin nodded.

“What do you think? I mean do you think he was telling the truth?”

“I think he was,” Erin replied as she pushed Edwina back so she was sitting on the edge of the table again; she pulled her mistresses shirt open so she could examine her wound again, “as much as his kind can...” Erin sighed heavily as she started to remove the bandages around Edwina's ribs, “Now look what you've done...you've popped a stitch.”

“So the Queen's in the New Forest, eh?” Edwina spoke mostly to take her mind off what Erin was doing, “Of course we'll have to go and try to find her...”

“I suppose we will,” Erin admitted as she got out her first aid kit again, “but not for a day or two, I want that wound to have a chance to start healing.”

“You're as bad as an old mother hen, Mistress O'Keeffe,” Edwina chuckled.

“Well someone has to look after yous,” Erin said as she threaded her needle, “With your mothers dead and gone someone has to keep you alive.”

“Which you do very well...ouch!” Edwina yelped as Erin stuck her needle into her mistresses flesh.

“Stop jumping about so I can get this stitch right,” Erin muttered as she worked, “so, we'll be riding around the Green Wood for the next few days.”

“Looks like,” Edwina sighed with relief once Erin had finished her work and had started to reapply the bandages.

“Well I better make sure those lazy stable girls are looking after the horses right,” Erin tied off the bandages before handing her mistress a clean shirt, “Do you think you'll recognise her Majesty if we find her?”

“I hope so,” Edwina carefully put her shirt on with a little help from Erin, “its been a few years since I last saw her at Court...we were both younger then. According to the pile of ash I was within an arms length of her today, but I didn't recognise her.”

“Well, M'lady, you were fighting that big Irish lass and her even bigger friend,” Erin pointed out, “and why else would anyone want to go through all that bother to steal away the Lady Marion if the Queen wasn't at the bottom of it?”

“True,” Edwina nodded, “so, we start our search tomorrow.”

“M'lady!” Erin replied warningly, “Your wound!”

“Which will have started to heal by the morning if you let me get a good night's sleep,” Lady Blackadder pointed out, “and I promise that I won't go galloping all over creation and bleed on it.”

“Mind you don't, M'lady, you're not too big for me to put you over my knee and give you a good spanking!”

“I'm not ten any more,” Edwina pointed out.

“More's the pity,” Mistress O'Keeffe shook her head in sorrow, “more's the pity...”

0=0=0=0

**The Outlaw Camp, the following morning.**

In the darkness of her cabin, Bess lay next to Marion as they shared the roughly made and narrow bed. After being rescued from the clutches of the Sheriff of Southampton, Marion had found herself being taken deep into the Green Wood. Here she'd been given a draft that made her sleep, when she awoke again she found herself sitting next to a fire with her lover's arms around her. The fire formed the focal point of a small settlement inhabited by numerous women and children who Bess referred to as her 'Merry Women'. These 'merry women' where Bess' followers and the cadre for her armies that would one day topple the false queen from her throne. After some introductions, Bess and Marion retired to Bess' cabin for the night, they had many months of separation to make up for. 

“Look into my eyes and you'll see,” Bess said softly as the morning light crept around the edges of the blanket that did service as a door to the cabin, “what you mean to me.” Bess stroked Marion's long golden tresses, “Search your heart, search your soul and when you find me there you'll search no more. Don't tell me it's not worth fightin' for, don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for. You know it's true everything I do, I do it for you...”

“Oh that's very sweet my love,” giggled Marion, “but I really need to get up or there'll be an accident!”

“An accident?” Bess frowned.

“Uh-huh,” Marion climbed out of bed over Bess' recumbent form and stood naked on the floor next to the bed looking for her clothes. “Where are the privy's?”

“Erm...” like a lot of people in love, Bess wasn't prepared for the practicalities of actually living with the person she loved, “...out of the door and turn to your right then follow your nose.”

“I suppose I'll get used to it,” Marion muttered as she found her dress and pulled it on, “back in a mo...” with that Marion disappeared out the door.

Lying there by herself, Bess frowned, she'd made what she thought was a very pretty speech professing her undying love for Marion only to have the girl of her dreams get up and head for the jakes. It had never said anything about this in the romances she'd read when she'd been a girl. As she pondered the realities of life, another reality popped into her mind. It was well known that the Lady Marion was betrothed to the True Queen, yet she had willingly spent the night with Bess Fairweather, Ensign of the Queen's Lifeguard.

Although Bess was fairly sure of the loyalty of her 'Merry Women', she thought it unfair for her to put a strain on that loyalty. All her Merry Women had joined to help put the True Queen back on the throne, it was time...it was time for her to tell them the truth, she was sure that Giles already suspected as did Tuck and maybe Ellen; the time had come and there was no time like the present.

“Why so grim, my love?” Marion asked as she came back into the cabin, “And while I don't mind playing the bear for a while I really think you should have something done about the jakes.”

“Never mind that,” Bess swung her legs out of bed and started to search for her clothes, “get properly dressed, I need to tell the Merry Women something and I need you at my side me when I do it.”

“Oh, this looks serious,” Marion took off her dress and started to look for her petticoats, “What do you need to say to them?”

“I need to tell them who I really am...”

“You mean they don't know!?”

“No,” Bess shook her head as she put on her britches.

“Sheesh!” Marion rolled her eyes before asking Bess to help her lace up the back of her dress, “Add a lady's maid to the things we need...”

“Yes my love,” Bess replied as she started to lace up the back of Marion's dress; she'd managed without a personal servant for months, obviously Marion's idea of 'roughing it' was different to her own.

0=0=0=0

“Sisters,” Bess called as she and Marion walked hand in hand to where the wives and girlfriends were cooking and serving breakfast to the Merry Women, “the Lady Marion and I have an announcement to make...”

This got everyone's attention and the Merry Women stopped eating to listen to what their leader wanted to say while at the same time wondering why she felt the need to say it at breakfast time, they also hoped there wasn't going to be a speech.

“You've all followed me thinking I was just plain, Ensign Bess Fairweather of Her Majesty's Lifeguard,” Bess explained, “I now have to tell you that I've been lying to you all, for which I am heartily sorry.”

The Merry Women muttered and looked at each other in confusion, if Bess wasn't who she said she was who was she?

“The time has come to tell you all my true identity, which the Lady Marion can confirm...”

“Oh get on with it!” cried a voice from the back of the crowd, “Some of us 'ave work to do!”

The Merry Women laughed for a moment or two before looking up at Bess again.

“I am not Bess Fairweather as you had all believed,” Bess announced, “I am in fact Queen Elizabeth the Eighth, by the grace of The Lady, Queen of England!”

Bess' announcement was met by stunned silence for a moment before Little Joan stepped forward and lifted her staff in one mighty hand above her head.

“HUZZAH FOR GOOD QUEEN BESS!” she yelled.

“Huzzah!” cried the Merry Women still a little uncertain and puzzled.

“Three cheers for Good Queen Bess!” Giles called as he jumped to his feet, “HIP-HIP...!”

“Huzzah!” cheered the Merry Women with growing conviction.

“HIP-HIP!”

“HUZZAH!” the outlaws called with even more enthusiasm.

“HIP-HIP!”

“HUZZAH!”

0=0=0=0

A/N.

American readers are reminded that the word 'Fanny' has a completely different meaning in the UK than it does in the US.

Good Queen Bess' declaration of undying love to the Lady Marion was taken in part from from 'Everything I do...' which was the theme song from 'Prince of Thieves'.


	13. Chapter 13

_There's twenty shillings on the drum,  
For her that with us freely comes.  
'Tis volunteers shall win the day,  
Over the hills and far away._

*

*: 'Over the hills and far away', traditional.

**The Green Wood.**

It was nearly a week since Lady Blackadder had dusted The Guy of Gizbourne. In that time Mistress Erin O'Keeffe and herself had been riding through the Green Wood in the hopes of coming into contact with some of Queen Bess' Merry Women.

“Erin, I'm coming to believe that Gizbourne was lying,” Edwina Blackadder said to her friend and companion as she they rode along a track together. 

“Well, M'lady,” Erin replied as she shifted and tried to ease her saddle sore butt a little, “he was a vampire and it would be in his nature to lie.”

“But what else could I do?” Lady Blackadder asked, “This was the only lead on the Queen's location.”

“Don't fret so, M'lady,” Erin sighed, “like you say, what else could you do...OH!”

As Mistress O'Keeffe spoke a dozen women all dressed in rough, country-women’s clothes stepped out onto the track that Edwina and Erin had been following. Not only were these women dressed in shades of brown, grey and green they all held bows, quarterstaffs or muskets with curious looking knives fitted to the muzzles; Lady Blackadder, although an experienced soldier, had never seen anything quite like them in her life.

“Stand!” cried the leader of the band; a blonde woman in her late twenties, with an impressive bust and an even more impressive looking blunderbuss. “Now what's your business in the Queen's forest?”

“I am Lady Edwina Blackadder and this is my companion Mistress Erin O'Keeffe, we're on a mission to find the Queen...” Edwina replied as she steadied her nervous horse.

“Now which queen be that?” the woman, who's name was Sally Golightly, asked, the barrel of her blunderbuss not moving a fraction of an inch away from its target.

“The Rightful Queen of course,” Edwina replied haughtily, “Queen Elizabeth...The Lady Bless Her. Would you be some of the Queen's Merry Women?”

“That we would,” Sally admitted with a nod.

“Then I charge you to take us to her at once, I have urgent news for Her Majesty,” Edwina continued.

“You 'ave, 'ave you?” Sally and her sister Merry Women relaxed a little, but didn't drop their guard.

“I'd sooner shoot you now, but I suppose I better check with the Queen as you might be tellin' the truth,” Sally observed more to herself than to any of her comrades, “Alright, get down off that horse an' hand over that fancy sword of yours,” Sally ordered, “If'n you're tellin' the truth you'll get 'em back, if ye ain't, well...ye won't be needin' 'em again.”

“I will not!” Edwina cried in outrage, “I'm a Lady and friend of the Queen and I will not surrender my horse and sword to a rogue like you!”

“ _When Ann ploughed and Eve span, who was then a gentlewoman?_ ” Sally said in a sing-song voice as she cocked her piece, “You'll walk like the rest of us 'rogues'.”

“I think we should do as the nice lady with the big gun says, M'lady,” Erin said as she tried to stop herself and her mistress being shot by the woman with the large breasts and larger gun.

“I'd do as you're friend says... _M'lady'_ ,” Sally smirked.

“Oh, all right,” Edwina sighed as she got down from her horse followed only moments later by Erin, “but only under protest.”

“Noted,” Sally agreed as she followed Edwina's every move with the muzzle of her blunderbuss, “and now if you'd be so kind as to hand over your sword...” Sally could see the hesitation in the young woman's eyes, “...look,” she said with a long suffering sigh, “there's no shame in it, ye be surrounded an' outnumbered to resist would be foolish and futile.”

“Resistance is never futile,” Edwina muttered, but after a moment she drew her sword and handed it hilt first to Sally.

“There,” Sally said kindly as she took the sword, “that wasn't so bad was it?”

“That depends on where you're standing,” Edwina observed.

“Come on lasses,” Sally said as she tucked Edwina's sword through her belt, “there's a ways to go to get to the camp...Mary, Beth, Abby, Chrissie and Charlotte you stay 'ere an' watch the path; Charlotte you'm in charge, the rest follow me an' that includes you, _your Ladyship_.”

0=0=0=0

After a brisk morning walk of what Lady Blackadder guessed was about two or three miles through the forest, the party came to a large clearing in amongst the trees. Looking to left and right she saw what appeared to be forester's huts spread out under the trees. In and around the huts women and children walked about ignoring the newcomers because they all seemed more interested in what was going on at the centre of the settlement. Being slightly taller than most women Edwina had no real difficulty seeing what was going on; there no more than a dozen yards away from her was the Queen, her blazing, red hair marking her out from the other women. The next thing Edwina noticed was several women who were holding the arms of a big woman...it only took Edwina a moment to recognise her as the Irish soldier who'd tried to snatch the Lady Marion away at the sports day. The Queen was speaking in a commanding voice, the sort Edwina remembered hearing her use when drilling soldiers, there seemed to be some argument going on about the big Irish woman.

“...he may have the cock and balls of a lustful, weak minded Guy,” Bess cried as she gestured to where Giles was being held, “but he has the heart and courage of a true born English woman!”

Edwina frowned as she and her guards came to a halt, she wasn't sure what the Queen was talking about but she seemed to be suggesting that this Giles woman was actually a Guy!

“Sisters!” the Queen continued before any in the crowd had a chance to refute her arguments so far, “Sisters, for you all are my sisters however vile you be...”

“Oi!” cried a woman as she stepped forward, “You'm may be the Queen an'all, but you'm be careful who ye call 'vile'!”

“...but,” the Queen continued ignoring the interruption, “has my good Sir Giles ever forced himself on any one of you?” the mob muttered to itself, “indeed has he not kept himself very much to himself and only tried to help?” The Queen pointed to a woman in the crowd, “Mistress Longbottom was it not Sir Giles who pulled the arrow from your leg, bound up the wounds and stopped it from festering...Mistress Tracepurcel was it not Sir Giles how sat up with you three nights in a row when your daughter had a fever, was it not him who made the tea that made her well again?” Bess watched the crowd for a second, “Who amongst us hasn't looked to Sir Giles for help, I know I have on many occasions...”

“All this be true, Majesty,” a woman in her mid forties stepped forward to speak for the people, “but a talking Guy...I'm sorry Majesty, but that smacks of The First and we will not be in league with The First, we'll leave that sort of thing to the Weasel-Jocks and the Frogs!”

The mob agreed with her, but not as strongly as when they were demanding that the Queen should hang Giles from the highest tree in the forest.

“I am but a simple soldier for the working day,” Bess explained, “I know nothing about religious dogma, I just know what I love and love what I know...but maybe Sister Tuck could persuade you,” she turned to gesture to the tubby nun, who immediately stepped forward to address the crowd.

“Sisters!” Tuck raised her hands as she called on the crowd to listen to her, “I say, sisters...” the crowd settled down and waited to hear what Sister Tuck would say, “...you all know me, right?” the members of the crowd all nodded their heads, yes they all knew Sister Tuck right well, “You know I wouldn't put you wrong, eh?” Yes, everyone knew that Sister tuck was a...if not Saintly woman, then a righteous one, “And I'm not going to bore you with long-winded philosophical arguments which only serve to muddy the water.” the blunt talking nun filled her lungs before starting to speak again, “All this talk of Sir Giles being a servant of The First sent to lead us through the Hellmouth is just a loud of bollocks...now piss off and get on with your work!”

Dismissed by a wave of Tuck's hand the mob dissolved with a shrug and went about its business; the Queen and Sister Tuck had spoken so that was good enough for them.

“Good Sir Giles!” the Queen called as she rushed to Giles' side, “Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Giles replied as he accepted his weapons from the hands of the very women who thirty seconds earlier would have merrily used them on him, “I'll survive...”

“What happened?” the Queen wanted to know.

“Some one caught me shaving,” Giles explained, “put two and two together and came up with four and...” Giles sighed heavily, “...well you saw what happened next.”

“Yes indeed,” the Queen frowned, “I'll have to think on this, once the False Queen hears I have a talking Guy she'll use it to turn people against us...in the mean time,” Bess drew her sword, “I better make this 'Sir' thing official...kneel Rupert Giles.”

Giles obediently got down on one knee in front of the Queen before she tapped him on both shoulders with the tip of her sword.

“Arise Sir Rupert and go with The Lady,” intoned the Queen, “Now I think I must see who the guards have brought in,” Bess gestured over to where several guards stood with two women and two horses, “Stay close, I may need your counsel in a while.”

Watching as the queen, Giles supposed she was _his_ Queen now, left he felt Little Joan come over and stand beside him.

“That was close,” Joan observed as she watched the Queen walk over to question the prisoners.

“Aye,” agreed Polly, the girl who until recently had been a corporal in the false queen's army and was now the full time girlfriend of Little Joan, “You're not hurt are 'e _Sir_ Giles?”

“I'm fine, Polly, thank-you for asking,” Giles turned his attention from the young woman back to Joan, “and where were you when I was about to have my neck stretched?”

“Oh, I were near by,” Joan reassured him, “I'd not have let anyone do ye 'arm...erm...” Joan hesitated for a moment, “...it seems to me that ye 'avin' been exposed as a Guy, as it were, this might be to our advantage...”

“Advantage?” Giles asked as he gave his glasses a quick polish before replacing them on his nose.

“Aye,” Polly spoke up, “there's not a Guy in the camp and several women want to have babies and we was thinking...”

“We was thinking...” Joan picked up where Polly had left off, “...that you might do the necessary...I mean as you're the only Guy around we could charge five shillings a time instead of the usual half-crown...”

“...and, like, there's several girls who'd tie you down and straddle you for twice that amount,” Polly pointed out hopefully, “and what with 'e being one of these 'ere 'Sir' things now...”

“NO!” Giles cried out vehemently, “I will not be used as some sort of breeding machine!”

“Not even for seven-and-six a time,” Joan suggested, “with you getting three-and-eightpence every time.”

“No...hold on,” Giles looked at Joan and Polly closely, “how come I'd only get half the money when I'd be doing all the...well, for want of a better word, work?”

“Overheads,” Joan replied quickly.

“Arrangement fees,” Polly added.

“No!” Giles said again, “At least I won't do it for money...”

“Ye mean you'd fuck 'em for free?” Joan sounded shocked to her very core, “But that's unnatural!”

“Look,” Giles raised a finger at his two 'friends', “while I realise that some of the wives might want to start or enlarge their families and that I'm the only man available at this time...I will not do what is basically an important public service for cash...”

“'ow do ye feel about voluntary donations?” Joan asked with a grin.

0=0=0=0

“Your Majesty!” Lady Blackadder swept off her hat and bowed low to her Queen.

“Stand up cousin and let me hug you,” Queen Bess cried as she advanced on the black clad woman her arms wide in welcome.

“Bess!” cried Edwina as she stepped into the Queen's embrace; they'd been good friends at school years before and Edwina was beginning to wonder how she'd thought she could ever have forgotten the Princess as she then was.

“Blackie,” the Queen returned her kinswoman's hug, thankful that she now had at least one noble friend in her camp.

“Lady Marion,” Edwina said after greeting her Queen, “I trust you are recovered from your adventures, I regret there was nothing I could do to help you.”

“You're forgiven, Lady Blackadder,” Marion stepped forward and held out her hand.

Once again bowing low, Edwina took the Lady's hand and kissed it before standing up again.

“Your Majesty, I bring important news,” Edwina explained urgently.

“What is it,” the Queen frowned, “good I hope?”

“Mostly,” Edwina admitted, “First you'll be glad to hear that The Guy of Gizbourne is no more...”

“What!” the Queen exclaimed.

“Yes, Your Majesty, he has ceased to be...”

“This is indeed good news,” smiled the Queen, “what else?”

“The Duchess, your mother,” Edwina nodded towards the Lady Marion, “will lead her regiments south to depose the false queen in the spring if you can start to raise an army in the south by that time. I'm to ride north with your answer.”

“An army?” the Queen looked worried, “All I have are these women who chose to follow my cause. Although our numbers grow every day we're not an army and I have no money,” the Queen gave her friend a sad smile, “You remember what Miss Heywood used to say...?”

“You can't wage a war without large amounts of cash,” Edwina agreed, remembering her school lessons, “But...”

“But?”

“My third piece of good news,” Edwina smiled, “the Bishop of Bath and Wells will be travelling along the road from Bournemouth to Southampton sometime in the next three days...”

“And, what of it?” asked the Queen, “Bishops are want to travel about the land visiting their estates.”

“But not normally in convoy with the last five years back taxes to the queen...”

“But that must be...” Bess tried to do some mental arithmetic but ran out of numbers.

“A lot of money,” Edwina smiled, “enough to fight a war...”

“If its a short war,” the Queen cautioned, “and what of the bad news?”

“The bad news?” Edwina sighed sadly, “Although in the north the Duchess has defeated the Scots each time they've crossed the border there are still bands of wild Highlanders and demons ready to raid at a moments notice. The Duchess can't be away for more than the summer.”

“That's bad news,” admitted the Queen when she saw the look on Edwina's face she said, “There's more?”

“Aye, your Majesty,” Edwina replied, “and I have seen this with my own eyes; believing that if it comes to a fight the queen won't be able to rely on her English soldiers to fight against you she's hired troops from the Queen of France. I saw two regiments of foot land in Tilbury and there's intelligence that a regiment of horse and some artillery has landed at Harwich. The last news I had was they were marching towards Windsor where they'll spend the winter.”

“Right!” cried the Queen making everyone jump, “We'll relieve the Bishop of Bath and Wells of her money...after all I am the Rightful Queen and if the money is back taxes it belongs to me...and then...”

“And then, my Queen?” Lady Blackadder asked.

“You must ride north again, dear cousin to tell my soon to be Mother-in-law that there'll be a Royal Army waiting for her in the south come summer!”

0=0=0=0


	14. Chapter 14

_Come fill up your glasses and let us be merry,  
For to rob bags of plunder it is our intent.  
As we roam through the forest,  
Where the lilies and the daisies,  
And the beauty of England lay resting her head.  
Then away, then away,  
To the place in yonder Green Wood where the wild roses grow._

*

*: Cadgwith Anthem, Traditional.

**The Green Wood.**

It was now two days since Lady Blackadder had told the Queen of the Bishop of Bath and Wells' travel plans. After receiving the news, Queen Bess had taken sixty of her fiercest fighters to the road that the Bishop would be following. It hadn't taken her long to find a good ambush site and deploy her forces. So as not to give away the position of the ambush the Queen had pulled back her troops from the road and into a camp in the cover of the forest leaving only scouts to warn her of the Bishop's approach.

On the morning of the second day, Giles, or 'Sir Rupert' as he was now called, found himself standing by the shallow river were the road crossed over. The road, he guessed, was probably the old A35 which had once connected Bournemouth with Southampton. Now there was little to show of the old road, nearly seven hundred years of bad weather and neglect had reduced it to a few pieces of concrete and tarmac that occasionally broke the surface next to the track that had taken over from the four lane highway of his own time. The Queen's plan was simple, the young woman seemed to have a knack for coming up with uncomplicated and workable plans. Too many people believed that you had to cover every eventuality for your plan to have a chance of working. As no plan survived contact with the enemy, it was best to make a simple plan so there was less to go wrong.

Turning slightly, Giles looked along the trackway towards Southampton, about fifty yards further on was the 'cut off'. When the ambush was set a group of about a dozen fighters would be deployed to kill any of the escort that managed to fight their way through the main ambush. About two hundred yards the other way, towards Bournemouth, would be another party with orders to stop anyone escaping back the way the convoy had just come. Around the little ford itself, the Queen would deploy the rest of her fighters to destroy the convoy's main force. Hearing the sound of footsteps behind him, Giles turned to find both Little Joan and Polly watching him. While Little Joan was in her usual outfit of breeches, shirt and leather jerkin, Polly had swapped her skirt and blouse for her old army uniform.

“Good morning to both of you,” Giles called as the two women walked over to join him, “any news?”

“Of the Bishop ye mean?” Joan shook her head, “Nary a sign of her.”

“I don't think she's a-coming,” Polly pointed out, “never did trust that Lady Blackadder...”

“Why's that?” Giles asked before adding, “You look very warlike this morning young Poll.”

“'E do what 'e can...” Polly replied as she shifted the position of her sword a little, “...when I was one of the False Queens soldiers I saw that Lady Edwina, she looked far too chummy with Queen Diana for my liking.”

“Well the Queen seems to trust her,” Giles said, he looked at Little Joan and raised a quizzical eyebrow, “what do you think?”

“Who me?” Joan replied in mock surprise, “Ye wanna know what a mere servant thinks, _Sir_ Rupert...?”

“The fact that you're a _mere_ servant, as you put it, has never stopped you before,” Giles pointed out testily.

“Well, I'm not too sure see,” Joan said slowly as she scratched her chin, “On the one hand the Queen and Lady Blackadder was friends at school, on the other Poll is me girlfriend so I'm not goin' ta disagree with 'er...”

“A very wise move,” Giles nodded, “but absolutely no help to me...” Giles stopped talking as the sound of galloping hoof beats from the direction of Bournemouth came to his ears; turning around he saw a rider galloping hard towards him, “One of the Queen's scouts!”

“Where's the Queen?” cried the young horsewoman urgently as she reined in her mount.

“At the camp,” Giles replied, “is there news?”

“Indeed,” the scout replied as her horse panted and pawed at the soft ground with its hooves, “the Bishop of Bath and Wells is only half an hour behind me!”

“Joan!” Giles cried, “Take this scout to the Queen...” he turned to look at Polly, “...Poll you stay with me...”

After giving Polly a quick kiss on the cheek, Little Joan led the rider off in the direction of the Queen's camp.

“What do we do?” Polly asked as she pulled her sword from its scabbard.

“You can put that thing away for a start,” Giles nodded at Polly's drawn sword, “and I do wish you'd left that damn red jacket at home.”

“What this?” Polly stroked her red tunic defensively, “But its traditional!”

“A tradition that will get you shot,” Giles replied shortly, “now we'll just hide in the bushes and make sure the Bishop hasn't got any scouts out.”

0=0=0=0

It only took the Queen fifteen minutes to move her troops into their preprepared positions. About half her force had muskets with the new bayonets and as all her musketeers carried flintlock weapons there was no smoke from smouldering matches to give-away their hiding places. The rest of the Queen's force carried bows, everyone also carried some sort of melee weapon, a sword, a quarterstaff or even just a club.

“What news?” called the Queen as a foot scout arrived at the her command post.

“The Bishop an' 'er troops draw closer, Majesty,” Scout reported with a nod of her head.

“Then we are drawing closer to them!” the Queen replied to the confusion of her 'staff'.

“I think what the Queen means...” Giles began but was interrupted by the Queen herself.

“To your posts ladies...” the Queen glanced at Giles, “...Sir Rupert you stay with me if you please.”

“I'm yours to command, your Majesty,” Giles replied as the other officers disappeared into the undergrowth and back to their troops.

“Yes you are aren't you?” the Queen replied with a girlish giggle, “Erm...I'd really prefer it if you didn't get killed in this little skirmish...”

“While I appreciate the Queen's concern, I have to ask, why?”

“Well, erm it's just a bit embarrassing...”

“Excuse me your Majesty,” Giles held up his hand and pointed down the line of the track.

Coming on down the road were four big women on big horses, each woman wore a black helmet and breast plate over their white jackets and grey trousers along with heavy riding boots. Each soldier was armed with a sword and at least two pistols.

“Frenchies!” Queen Bess spat the word out as if it was a curse.

“That'll be their vanguard, then?” Giles asked in a whisper as he crouched down next to the Queen.

“Damn them to the Hellmouth!” Bess snapped angrily.

“You weren't expecting there to be French regulars?” Giles asked mildly.

“No!” the Queen shook her head, “I only really expected some Church Police plus the Bishop's personal guards.”

“No one expects the French cavalry, then,” Giles' voice was bone dry, perhaps Lady Blackadder was a spy and this was a trap; before he had time to pass on his fears to the queen, Lady Blackadder appeared behind the Queen's bush.

“Majesty!” Blackadder gasped as she slid to a halt.

“Blackie!” replied the Queen.

“Majesty,” Lady Blackadder was a little out of breath, “there's a force of twenty cavalry and maybe twice that number of foot coming towards us, do we withdraw or do you want to carry out the ambush?”

“Tell me of the foot, quickly,” the Queen demanded.

“Half pike and half shot and all English,” Lady Blackadder paused before adding, “I swear I knew nothing of the French.”

“I believe you,” the Queen reassured her old friend, “now what of the gold?”

“About thirty pack mules and unless their packs are full of lead...” Lady Blackadder grinned at her Queen, “...I'd say your Majesty will be able to buy her army soon.”

“Good,” Bess nodded, “we continue as before only now we try not to kill or wound too many of the English troops they could be reinforcements.”

“I'll pass the word,” Lady Blackadder replied with a nod, “and Majesty, don't get killed.”

“I'll try not to,” chuckled the Queen, “now go!”

“Do you think this is wise?” Giles asked, someone had to be the voice of caution so it might as well be him, “This could all be a cunning trap.”

“You think?” the Queen turned to look him in the eye, “Well, maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but I'm never going to get my throne back by just hiding in the forest.”

“True,” Giles agreed, there was risk to everything.

“Look!” the Queen pointed through her bush as the French vanguard approached.

Ducking down, Giles and Queen Bess watched as the four Frenchwomen rode by, the cut off would deal with them. Once the lead troopers had passed, the Queen and Giles got their first glimpse of the convoy.

“No sign of the Bishop?” Giles asked.

“No,” the Queen sounded puzzled, “I really don't understand why the good Lady Bishop is having anything to do with the French...” the Queen paused for a moment as the convoy got closer, “...she hates the beggers!”

As the Queen said the word 'begger’s' a volley of musket shots and arrows burst from the bushes at the side of the track knocking several French troopers from their saddles. Arrows continued to rain onto the Bishop's convoy as the Queen's musketeers reloaded. The cavalry women tried to control their surprised and frightened horses as they pulled pistols from their saddle holsters and fired into the thick foliage at the side of the track. Another volley of musket bullets hit the cavalry knocking another five or so troopers from their saddles. There was an order yelled in French and the surviving French cavalry dismounted to reload their pistols and fire at the smoke from the English muskets.

More arrows flashed from the wood to hit horse and riders. The arrows made the horses scream and buck, those that hit the now dismounted riders either bounced off their armour or stuck in their arms and legs staining their uniforms with red blood. Giles smiled proudly as the musketeers fired another volley, he'd been drilling them to load and fire three rounds a minute, by his timing they'd done it with time to spare. For a moment the only shots that could be heard came from French pistols as a few more arrows flew from the bushes. Standing up Queen Bess drew her sword and dagger, Giles stood up with her as he pulled his own sword from its scabbard.

“SAINT GEORGINA FOR ENGLAND!” Yelled the Queen as she burst from cover and charged towards the French. 

“Oh bloody hell!” Giles cried as he ran after the Queen sword in hand; hearing someone behind him he glanced over his shoulder to see Little Joan and Polly running after him, “Thank god for small mercies he muttered just as the Queen killed a mounted French officer with a sword thrust angled up under her armour.

Very soon Giles found he had no breath to spare for talking as he fought with a large cavalry woman who seemed determined to do him bodily violence. Just as he parried a vicious thrust aimed at his face, Little Joan appeared and hit the French woman over the head with her massive staff. Giles' opponent sank to her knees as her eyes rolled up into her head. Recovering her staff, Joan hit the kneeling woman a heavy blow to the top of her helmet, there was a sickening crunch as the staff blow fractured her skull and the Frenchwoman fell face down in the mud.

“Thanks,” Giles called as he looked around; it appeared that the fight was over and the ambush had been successful and it had all happened in less than a few minutes.

“YOUR MAJESTY!” Lady Blackadder and her companion appeared on the scene bloody swords in their hands and ran over to where the Queen stood her own sword and dagger red with French blood.

“Blackie!” the Queen called with a big grin on her face, “Did we win?”

“Sort of,” Lady Blackadder replied, “come and see.”

“Come on you two,” Giles called to Little Joan and Polly, “we better make sure that the Queen doesn't get herself killed.”

“We?” asked Joan.

“Looked to me,” added Polly, “as if the Queen can look after 'erself...”

“It's you that needs guarding,” Little Joan smirked as she gestured towards Giles.

“I'll have less of your cheek, now come on!”

“Aye Sir Rupert!” the two women chorused as they followed their 'Master' along the track.

There standing on the track was a small force of red coated pike and shot in an all 'round defensive formation. A few red coated bodies lay dead or wounded on the ground as the Queen's forces had done their best to obey her order not to kill too many of the English troops.

“What's going on?” the Queen demanded.

“They say they won't surrender unless they and the Bishop are given free passage on to Southampton or back to Bournemouth,” explained Ellen a' Dale who was in command here.

“The gold?” the Queen asked quietly.

“In out hands, Your Majesty,” Ellen confirmed.

“Goodie!” the Queen giggled quietly before sobering a little, “I suppose I better go speak with them...”

“Majesty...” Giles began.

“I know what you're going to say,” Queen Bess replied, “But sometimes a Queen has to do what a Queen has to do.”

“Oh,” Giles said to himself, “I thought that was just John Wayne.”

The next time he looked he saw the Queen advancing sword in hand towards the red coats.

“Soldiers!” Queen Bess called as she stood only a foot away from the points of the soldier's pikes, “Soldiers! Let us not spill any more good English blood this day. Lay down your arms and then take them up again and use them in the service of your true Queen.”

“Elizabeth?” called a voice from the centre of the formation.

There was a disturbance in the force as a tall, slim, middle aged woman in a Bishop's robes elbowed her way to the front of the soldiers.

“Elizabeth!” cried the Bishop as she stood looking into Bess' face.

“Auntie Agnes?” replied the Queen.

“Its alright lasses,” Bishop Agnes turned to face her soldiers, “it truly is the rightful Queen...the Lady save the Queen!”

There was a short pause as the soldiers worked out which side their bread was buttered on, their Captain stepped forward and walked right up to the Queen and offered the hilt of her sword to Bess, after touching the hilt with her hand she let the officer keep her sword.

“Captain keep your sword and use it in the survive of your true Queen.”

“Aye, that I will do and do gladly,” the officer turned to face her troops, “Three cheers for Queen Elizabeth! Hip! HIP!”

“HUZZAH!” cried the soldiers as they waved their weapons in the air.

“HIP! HIP!”

“HUZZAH!” the soldiers broke ranks and surrounded the Queen and the Bishop.

“HIP! HIP!”

“HUZZAH!” cried everyone as the Merry Women burst from the forest to join their new sisters in arms.

“Oh bloody hell...” Giles sighed.

“What are ye complaining about now?” Little Joan winked down at him.

“Aye,” cried Polly happily, “we'll be marching on Windsor soon and that bitch Diana's head will be on the end of a pike by autumn!”

0=0=0=0

Highlight and right click...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMBpPYA8ebY


	15. Chapter 15

_When evil stalks upon the land  
I'll nyther hold nor stay me' hand  
But fight to win a better day  
Over the hills and far away. _

_No more from sound of drum retreat,  
While Good Queen Bess and Blackie beat.  
The French and false queen everyday,  
Over the hills and far away._

_Gentlewomen that have a mind  
To serve the queen that's good and kind  
Come list and enter in to pay  
Over the hills and far away._

**The road from Southampton to Windsor, early Summer, 2687.**

It was a perfect early summer morning, although there was still a little bite to the morning air the clear blue skies promised that the day would be warm and dry. Birds sang cheerfully in the trees near the road where Captain Jenny Wren stood with a mug of tea in one hand and a large bread bap, filled to overflowing with crispy bacon in the other. As she stood there eating her breakfast, Captain Wren turned to watch her company, they were all good women and she was proud of them. Most of them had taken Queen Elizabeth's shilling last autumn and Jenny had been drilling them and turning them into soldiers though the cold, wet, winter. Now she was confident that when they met the False Queen's forces they'd drive them off and back to their mothers in short order.

Alright, she told herself, her soldiers hadn't got proper uniforms. Less than half of her company had red jackets, most made do with a length of red cloth tied around their arms or around a hat. For herself, Jenny made do with a red sash over her blue civilian jacket. About one in three of her soldiers hadn't even got trousers and still wore skirts. Colonel, the Lady Penelope Lankin, had ordered that skirts should be cut to 'kilt length' but had never specified what 'kilt length' actually was. This had allowed some of the younger girls in the ranks to cut their skirts much shorter than 'kilt length' and the sight of all those young, smooth, shapely, bare legs could be quite distracting. Of course the girls with short kilts had regretted it the first time they came to a patch of stinging nettles or brambles; now these same girls wore think hose to give their legs at least some protection.

About a quarter of the company had helmets, but the others had at least an iron skull cap to be wore under their hats. To be honest Jenny didn't think that the lack of helmets was much of a problem. A wide brimmed hat was better at keeping the rain and sun off and a skull cap was lighter and almost as good protection as a helmet. What the company lacked in uniform equipment they made up for with their weapons. Every soldier under her command had one of the new, modified muskets and a 'bayonet' that fitted over the muzzle. They'd also handed in their noisy 'Twelve Apostles' and had been issued 'cartridge boxes' and waxed paper cartridges. Apart from being better at keeping their powder dry than the old wooden flasks, the new paper cartridges meant they could fire three rounds a minutes sometimes even four. They also had the new expanding bullets which flew straighter and further than the old musket balls, they also hit harder.

“Ma'am?'

Captain Wren, turned to see Sergeant Major Sam Bourne walking towards her along the track. Now the winter and spring rains had past the road was hardly muddy at all and troops could march without fear of losing their shoes.

“Sergeant Major,” Jenny smiled; her Sergeant Major had been a professional soldier even before the False Queen had usurped the throne and Jenny was glad to have her, it'd made training the company so much easier. “Can I help you?”

“Ma'am,” Bourne saluted her officer; Captain Wren might be an amateur but she had the making of a good officer given time, “Beg to report...” she began to give her morning report, “...sentries didn't spot anything unusual last night. No one ran off home to their mums and I put Private Cooke on a charge for 'inappropriate' behaviour...”

“Inappropriate behaviour', Sergeant Major?” Jenny queried.

“Tried to force herself on one of the drummer girls, Ma'am,” Bourne enlightened her.

“Oh we can't have that,” Jenny nodded, there were very strict regulations on 'relationships' in the Queen's army; Jenny thought most of them were a pain but she whole heartedly agreed that older women shouldn't force themselves onto young girls, “Isn't Cooke something of a drunkard too?”

“Yes Ma'am,” Bourne agreed with a firm nod.

“I'll deal with her later, anything else?”

“There's one sick and the cricket team want your permission to practice this afternoon, Ma'am.”

“Oh I don't see why not,” Jenny smiled, “haven't we got a match against fifth company this...”

“Riders, Ma'am,” Bourne pointed along the road to where two riders galloped towards them.

“I wonder why they're in such a hurry,” Jenny mused, “eh Sergeant Major?”

“Old mother Bourne didn't raise any of her daughters to make guesses in front of young ladies like yourself, Ma'am.”

“Of course she didn't,” Jenny put her mug and the remains of her bacon bap down on the top of the wall that ran along side this part of the road and smiled as she pulled her telescope from its pouch on her belt; opening out the instrument, Jenny put it to her eye and studied the two riders.

“They're not Frenchies and they don't look like the false Queen's people, sooo...” Jenny snapped her telescope shut, now the riders were closer she didn't need it.

“Isn't that Lady Blackadder and her companion, Mistress O'Keeffe?” Bourne asked.

“Well I'll be damned if you're not right, Sergeant Major,” Jenny agreed, “lets see what they want, eh?”

0=0=0=0

Five minutes later, Captain Wren stood and watched as Lady Blackadder and her companion galloped off in the direction of Winchester. Jenny's company was one of several that had been posted in a great arc just to the north and east of the ancient capital. Their job was to slow down any of the False Queen's forces while Queen Elizabeth's army concentrated in the old town before marching off to joint the Duchess of Northhumbia's army who were marching south to meet them.

“Sergeant Major!” Jenny called as she started to make her way along the track and back to her company.

“Ma'am!” Bourne fell in next to her captain.

“There's around three-hundred Frenchies about thirty minutes behind her Ladyship, there,” Jenny gestured after the fast disappearing Lady Blackadder, “our orders are to stop them.”

“Long odds, Ma'am,” Bourne replied quietly, “company strengths is at one-hundred-and-twenty-six not including the officers and drummers.”

“It'll have to do,” Jenny shrugged, “have the drummers beat to arms and we'll have an officer's call under the company colours.”

“Ma'am!” Sergeant Major Bourne sketched a hasty salute before running off to implement her captain's orders.

As she walked Captain Wren looked at the ground over which she'd have to fight. The road she and her company were guarding went through tangled woods until it arrived at the rough meadow she was now walking across. The meadow was a little more than one-hundred-fifty yards wide. There was more woodland to the north of her position where the road disappeared in amongst the trees again. Any force coming south would have to deploy right under the muzzles of her muskets. With the new expanding bullets, Jenny felt confident that her women could shoot down the enemy as they deployed.

As she walked she could hear the drummers drumming their urgent call as soldiers ran about collecting equipment before falling in by sections and platoons. Her eye attracted by movement she saw her ensign raise the company colour, a great eight foot square yellow flag with a cross of St Georgina in one corner and the three blue stars denoting the senior captain's company in the other. Under the flag she could see her officers standing awaiting her arrival.

“Good morning ladies,” Captain Jenny called trying to insert some levity into her voice, “It looks like we'll have some trade this morning, we've got about three hundred Frogs hopping down the road and I'm planning to give them a good thrashing.”

Noticing the worried looks her officers were giving each other, Jenny chose to ignore them. This would be the company's first taste of combat and to be honest Jenny felt as nervous as her officers looked, only she couldn't show it.

“What I intend to do,” Jenny continued, knowing that the best way of countering butterflies in the stomach was to give people something to do, “is to form the company just outside the edge of the wood here,” she pointed to where she intended to form the company's line, “From there we should get a clear shot at the frogs and if they press us too hard we can fall back through the trees and ambush them as they try to reform and use the road.” Jenny watched her officer's faces and noted that they didn't look quite so fearful now; she only had one Lieutenant and of her four ensigns only one was over seventeen. “We'll stand on the defensive and shoot the frogs down as they come at us. The ground's firm and the air's dry so we shouldn't have too many misfires and we can tap load. Remember Ladies, we've practiced our musketry all winter and three rounds a minute is what we're going to give them,” Jenny explained, “It should only take three volleys to stop them and another three to make 'em run...” Jenny grinned wickedly, “...I expect the battle to last about five minutes!”

This drew a quiet laugh from the officers.

“Remember to keep your women in hand and trust your NCOs to do there job,” Jenny reminded them, “and if you must get killed do it with some style and while doing something insanely brave...now,” Jenny stepped forward and shook hands with each of her officers, “good luck and get back to your platoons...Sergeant Major Bourne...”

“Ma'am!”

“...you stay close to me.”

“Yes Ma'am!”

Watching as her officers ran back to their platoons, Jenny sauntered over to stand next to her ensign and the two young drummer girls standing behind her.

“Nervous, Miss Maitland?” Jenny asked.

“No Ma'am,” Sarah Maitland replied as she clutched hold of the company's colours; she was only fifteen and had thought that 'going for a soldier' would be a great adventure, she'd not considered that she might die. “How can I be afraid, we have The Lady on our side.”

“Every woman who wages war believes The Lady is on her side,” Jenny explained kindly, “I'd wager, Miss Maitland, that The Lady must often wonder who is on hers...and although I love The Lady dearly, today I think I'll put my faith in our soldier's ability to fire three rounds a minute!”

“If you say so, Ma'am,” Sarah replied quietly.

“Shhh!” Jenny held up her hand for silence.

“Fifes and drums, Ma'am,” Bourne said quietly before adding, “les grenouilles.” 

“Indeed...” Jenny nodded as the sound of the enemy's drums drew closer, “...erm, in all the hullabaloo, Sergeant Major, I forgot to ask...we _do_ have enough ammunition to fight this battle do we not?”

“Sixty rounds per woman,” Bourne reassured her.

“You're sure?” she asked only to see Bourne nod, “That should be enough, eh?”

“Yes ma'am,” Bourne agreed with a smile, “particularly if you're only planning on firing six rounds apiece.”

“Yes! Of course,” Jenny laughed a little nervously as the French drums got louder still, “Well, I suppose we better get ready to use some of it.”

Drawing her sword and resting it against her right shoulder, Jenny marched six paces forward, before turning to face her company and stood to attention.

“Company...company, ATTENTION!” she cried trying not to let her voice squeak, “With one round, ball, LOAD!” She watched as her company rammed home powder and ball, loading would keep her women's minds off those damn French drums. When she saw that everyone had finished loading she drew in another deep breath, “PREPARE TO FIX BAYONETS!”

A hundred-and-twenty right hands reached for their bayonets and half drew the blades from their scabbards. 

“FIX...!” with a flurrish of burnished steel, bayonets were pulled from their scabbards and placed over the muzzles of muskets, “...BAYONETS!”

The bayonets clicked as they were locked into place, there were only a couple of dull metal clangs as improperly fixed bayonets fell to the ground, Jenny knew she could leave that little problem to her NCOs to deal with. Turning around she saw the first of the white coated French march out into the meadow, watching them she decided that she wouldn't open fire just yet. Instead she'd demolish their ranks as they advanced.

“PLATOON LEADERS!” Jenny called over the sound of the French drums, “ON MY ORDER WE WILL ENGAGE WITH VOLLEYS BY SECTION!”

The French having seen the English line were shaking out into battle order. Jenny smiled to herself as she saw the French pike take up position in the centre of their line, obviously the French had no bayonets, they also appeared to be armed with old matchlock muskets, this intelligence made her feel much more confident. Not only could she out shoot the French she could also beat them in a melee. However there were still a lot more French than there were English. It had taken several minutes for them to deploy into line from column of march and Jenny wondered if she hadn't made a mistake in not allowing at least her sharpshooters to fire on the French. But that was all water under the bridge, she would have to live and die with her mistakes.

“MAKE READY!” Jenny ordered as she watched the French officers dress their lines.

Over a hundred English muskets were brought up to waist height and hammers were pulled back to 'full cock' with a long, drawn out click. Next the French Colonel took her position at the head of her force, pointing her sword at the thin English line she ordered the advance. Once again the French fifes and drums started to pay as the French soldiers began to sing.

“ _Allons enfants de la Patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrive_!” sang the French as they came on.

“SERGEANT MAJOR!” Jenny called without turning her head.

“ _Contre nous de la tyrannie..._ ”

“MA'AM!”

“ _L'etendard sanglant est leve..._!”

“LETS GIVE 'EM A CHEER, SHALL WE?”

“WITH PLEASURE MA'AM!”

“ _L'etendard sanglant est leve..._ ”

“Who's the girl that leathered the French?” called Sergeant Major Bourne.

“OUR BESSIE!” replied the English soldiers as one woman.

“ _Mugir ces feroces soldats..._?”

“Who's the girl with the fiery hair?”

“ _Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras..._ ”

“OUR BESSIE!”

“ _Egorger nos filles, nos compagnes..._!”

“Who's the girl that's born to be Queen?”

“OUR BESSIE!”

“ _Aux armes citoyens, Formez vos bataillons..._ ”

“Who's the Queen who's good an' kind?”

“OUR BESSIE!”

“ _Marchons, marchons_!”

“PRESENT!” the English muskets were brought to bear on the rapidly advancing French.

“ _Qu'un sang impur..._ ”

“LEVEL!”

“ _Abreuve nos sillons_!”

“VOLLEY FIRE BY SECTIONS,” Captain Wren cried over the sound of the French advance, “NUMBER ONE AND NUMBER FOUR SECTIONS... **FIRE!** ”

The English line exploded into fire and smoke as each twenty woman section fired into the French line in turn. When firing 'by section' some part of the English line would always be firing, their bullets hitting the French line like a boxer pummelling her opponent with successive blows and throwing her adversary off balance. Watching as her soldier's volleys tore gaps in the advancing French column, Jenny counted the volleys, her first and forth sections (the first to fire) were already loading for their third volleys. Looking through the powder smoke she could see the French advance start to waver as officers tried to organise some return fire.

First section fired its third volley and the French in front of them staggered to a halt. The French were no cowards however and instead of running they fired back with their own long, slow volley. Jenny could hear the wet meat sound of musket balls hitting flesh and she heard the sound of her soldier's screams as they were hit. However, there were only a relative few casualties and most of her soldiers kept on firing. A fourth volley lashed the French line bringing it to untidy halt. Standing in the centre of her line Jenny was opposite the French pike-women as they stood stoically receiving the English musketry and unable to fight back. For a moment Jenny felt proud of those enemy soldiers but not as proud as she felt of her own.

The fifth volley smashed into the wavering French line as Jenny watched, she saw parts of the enemy line start to dissolve like ice in the springtime. French officers tried to keep their troops in formation. At last the sixth volley smashed into the French line, by now there was a steady stream of enemy soldiers heading for the rear. Their officers had given up trying to keep their women in line, they were now trying to prevent a retreat turning into a rout. As each section fired its last volley they quickly reloaded as they watched in amazement as the French fell back.

“ADVANCE YOUR BAYONETS!” Jenny cried as she grabbed hold of Ensign Maitland's arm and dragged her and the company colour forward; bayoneted muskets were brought up into position with a high pitched yell as the English made themselves ready for the next order, “CHAAAAAARGE!”

Pulling a slightly dazed Ensign Maitland behind her Jenny ran forward, sword in hand, towards the French. The French seeing what appeared to them to be hundreds of screaming devils appear out of the powder smoke, turned and ran. Except for the pike-woman who seemed to be made of sterner stuff, these stood their ground and lowered their pikes to receive the English charge. Seeing the line of pike points through the smoke, Jenny called on the soldiers around her to a halt. Pushing her soldiers into a rough and ready firing line she pointed at the French pikewomen who still held their ground.

“MAKE READY!” Jenny yelled, “Now's our time me girls! PRESENT! FIRE!”

It wasn't much of a volley but it was enough to shoot down the front rank of pike-women and send the rest staggering back in disorder.

“CHARGE!” capering towards the enemy like some wild Irish Kern, Jenny led her soldiers towards the French.

Stabbing a Frenchwoman through the chest, Jenny led her soldiers on with Ensign Maitland just behind her waving the colours so that the other company officers could see where their commander was. It was Ensign Maitland that caught Captain Wren's body when she was hit in the chest by a French officer's pistol ball. Crying out in pain and feeling as if she'd been kicked by a mule, Jenny fell back into the arms of the young Ensign.

0=0=0=0

“I'm dying aren't I?” Jenny asked; when she next opened her eyes she was looking up into Sergeant Major Bourne's sad face as she cradled Jenny's body in her arms.

“I'm afraid you are, Ma'am,” Bourne replied as she wiped a tear from her eye.

“Did we win?” Jenny wanted to know.

“Of course we bloody well won, Ma'am,” Bourne forced a smile, the battle was over and the French were in full retreat, “they came on in the same old way and we sent 'em runnin' in the same old way.”

“Good, tell everyone that I'm proud of the way they fought today an' tell Leftenant Thorn that the company is hers...”

“I will, my bonny lass, and I'll tell 'em all how brave you fought, that I will,” Bourne sobbed.

“No tears, Sam...” Jenny held on tightly to Bourne's hand, “...could you write an' tell my mothers I...”

Sergeant Major Bourne waited for Jenny to tell her what to say, but when she realised her Captain had gone, she closed her friend's eyes and laid her down to rest.

“Rest easy, dear Captain,” Bourne said quietly, “never you mind, I'll tell 'em right enough.”

0=0=0=0

Highlight and right click...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bs07OvqXp4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4VLOzk2Yj8


	16. Chapter 16

__

Her golden hair in ringlets fair,  
Her eyes like diamonds shining,  
Her slender waist, her heavenly face,  
That leaves my heart still pining.  
Oh Lady above oh hear my prayer,  
To my beauteous fair to find me,  
And send me safely back again,  
to the girl I left behind me.

*

*: Brighton Camp, traditional.

**Good Queen Bess' Camp near Reading, late Summer.**

“Oh, thank-you Poll,” Giles sighed as he sat down and Polly placed a mug of what passed for tea in this world in front of him.

“No trouble General,” Polly replied, “is there anything else I could get for 'e?”

“A bowl of water to soak my feet would be nice,” Giles said before taking a sip of his 'tea'.

“Be with 'e in 'arf a mo,” Polly replied as she headed out of Giles' tent in search of a bowl of water.

Sitting there savouring his tea, it really wasn't too bad, not like real tea of course but refreshing all the same; Giles wished he'd asked Polly to help take his riding boots off, but it would have to wait until she came back. Ever since the Queen had made him 'Quartermaster General' he'd spent his days either riding from unit to unit of the Queen's rapidly expanding army, or sitting pouring over lists of weapons and supplies. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day to get everything done, even if he was up at dawn and rarely went to bed before midnight.

Taking off his glasses, Giles rubbed the marks on his nose where his glasses had pressed on the skin. Today he'd been overseeing the conversion of matchlock muskets to flintlocks, there never seemed to be enough muskets to arm all the regiments of foot, the shortage was so bad some units would have to go into combat armed with bow and pike. The Queen's army was also short of artillery and powder. Lead for bullets and musket balls on the other hand was easy to find, you simply took it off church roofs.

Given time Giles felt confident that he could deal with all these shortages (another shortage was uniforms, but that wasn't as urgent as the shortage of muskets) if he had time, but, time was running out. All through the summer there had been sharp engagements between the Queen's forces and the False Queen's army. Things hadn't always gone the Queen's way, just because the False Queen's English troops were unenthusiastic didn't mean that they gave up the fight to the Queen's army. Of course some did and would either come over to the Queen's side or declare themselves neutral before being sent to watch the border with the Scots. Other times they'd fight hard and of course there were the False Queen's French 'Volunteers' they could always be relied upon to fight hard. Plus to make matters worse the French troops in England were not only being reinforced but they were also beginning to get better weapons.

It was on one of his missions to spy on the French reinforcements as they landed at Tilbury which had coursed Giles to ride through what had once been London. The centre of London had returned to marsh much as it had been when the Roman's first arrived to build the city. Around this soggy wilderness was a forest which had grown from the many parks London had sported before The First had rained destruction down on the works of man. Of the building that had once made up the mighty city only a few ruins poking up through the grass and between the trees. Six hundred years of weather and neglect had almost wiped London from the face of the map. Of course a few places had survived or had been rebuilt. Tilbury was a busy port with roads leading through the remains of London to the rest of southern England. The Tower of London by some miracle still stood and was even now garrisoned by the False Queens troops.

However, most of London was gone forever, buried under six centuries of rubble and leaf mould from the trees that had grown up through London's once busy streets. After his expedition to London, Giles had felt incredibly sad for several days. But he forced himself to throw himself back into his work, eventually he found he had a new purpose in life, not only would he do everything in his power to put Queen Bess back on her throne, but he'd also try to undo at least some of the destruction caused by The First.

But first things first, the Queen must regain her throne and to do that the Queen's army had to fight and defeat the False Queen's forces and do it soon. The longer the False Queen stayed in Windsor the more troops, money and equipment she got from France; whether Queen Diana realised that the country was slowly being taken over by the French no one knew. But, it soon would be unless Queen Bess' forces won the civil war before winter set in. If winter came and the True Queen wasn't sitting on her throne in Windsor Castle, the money would run out and her armies would fade away. Hearing someone come into his tent and thinking it might be Polly with the promised bowl of water, Giles looked around only to see a familiar figure standing at the entrance.

“Buffy!” he gasped in shock as the figure approached his chair.

0=0=0=0

The word 'tent' didn't do the place where Bess lived with Marion justice, it was more like a canvas manor house than a mere tent. The 'tent' was actually made up of several large tents stitched and tied together to form one huge structure. There were rooms for meetings and offices for the Queen's clerks, there was a kitchen, store rooms, bedrooms and even an indoor bathroom and private privy! The Queen's bedroom was certainly big enough to contain a large four-poster bed and still have plenty of room for trunks of clothes, tables, chairs and one very large mirror.

Sitting on the bed, Lady Marion was reading a romantic novel when she heard someone come into the room, looking up from her book she saw Queen Bess walk in looking very tied and travel stained.

“Bess!” Marion cried happily as she dropped her book and sprang off the bed; bouncing across the room she threw her arms around Bess' neck and was just about to give her a really good kissing when she froze in place only inches away from her target. “EWWW!” squealed her Ladyship as she took a handkerchief from the sleeve of her nightgown and put it to her nose, “Stench of a barracoon!”

“What?” replied the Queen a little sharply, before realising what was happening, “What do you expect? I've been riding all day and its hot!”

“So I notice,” Marion said as she took another step away from the Queen, “Elizabeth Rose Victoria Windsor...you stink, you're not coming to my bed smelling like that”

“But...!” the Queen was about to explain again that she had been working hard all day so it wasn't surprising that she was a little 'ripe'; however, she didn't get the chance.

“CAPTAIN SCARLET!” Marion yelled in a very unladylike way.

“Ma'am!” almost instantly Captain Willow Scarlet, one of the Queen's longest serving followers appeared in the doorway to the Queen's bed chamber.

“Ah, there you are Captain,” Marion smiled graciously at the one time outlaw and Merry Woman, “the Queen stinks so I'll need you to find me a bath, soap, towels and lots of hot water.”

“Bath, soap, towels and hot water on the way, Ma'am!” Captain Scarlet saluted and disappeared off on her mission.

“And quickly!” Marion called as she waved her handkerchief in front of her nose again.

0=0=0=0

“Buffy!” 

“Close but no cigar,” Buffy smiled as she came to rest her butt on the edge of Giles' paper strewn desk.

“You!” Giles snarled as he realised it wasn't Buffy or even the ghost of Buffy who was sitting just out of arm's reach, “The First!”

“In the flesh...” The First paused for a second before adding, “...or as near in the flesh as I can be seeing how I'm incorporeal.”

“What do you want?” Giles demanded, “Come to gloat?”

“Not to gloat,” The First smiled just like Buffy used to smile, “not as such.”

“Then why are you here?” Giles considered calling out for Little Joan but decided against it, calling for help was pointless and anyway in its incorporeal form the First could do little more than bluster.

“Do you really think that this rag-tag army you and the playgirl Queen have cobbled together will actually win?” The First scoffed, “Honestly Giles,” once again The First looked and sounded so much like Buffy it almost broke Giles' heart to see her again even though he knew this wasn't really his beloved and long dead slayer. “You tried to beat me before...” The First laughed, “...and failed! What makes you think that you'll win this time?”

“Oh you know,” Giles shrugged, “I think not being an insane, evil, non-corporeal entity helps...”

“Its not going to happen, Giles,” The First smirked, “do you really believe that I'd let you tear down all that I've built?”

“Built?” Giles laughed bitterly, “You can only destroy...”

“Destroy?” The First shrugged, “I think of it more like setting the world back on its correct path.”

“You're not going to win, you know,” Giles replied with all the confidence he could muster, “the Queen will meet the False Queen's army and destroy it then once she's back on the throne...”

“And that was such a success the last time she tried being queen,” mocked The First, “I bet you within a week of her getting the throne back under her butt she'll be spending all her time totally hunting and like partying or going off to fight the French.”

“Not this time,” Giles replied; he was quite aware of the Queen's failings, but this time it was going to be different because he'd be there to watch over her and guide her.

“You think?” The First chuckled with real amusement, “We'll see, but first you have to beat Queen Diana and I don't think you're little army of farm girls is capable...”

“As you say,” Giles replied, “we'll see...”

A noise distracted Giles and he turned to see Polly and Sharon Much standing in the doorway with a bowl of water for his feet and a plate of food for his stomach.

“Excuse us General...” Polly began but she stopped talking as she looked around the tent's interior, “...Oh! I thought you was with someone.”

“No,” Giles laughed off The First's sudden disappearance, “No I was just talking to myself.”

“You sure,” Polly cast Sharon Much a doubtful look, “no it definitely sounded like 'e was a-talking to someone...”

“Never mind,” Giles said in a tone that indicated that this subject was not for discussion, “Thank-you Sharon, if you could put the food on my desk and Poll, could you help me off with these damn boots?”

0=0=0=0

“I was talking to my mum today,” Marion said as she scrubbed Bess' back; not only had Captain Scarlet found everything that the Lady Marion had asked for, but, she'd also found a loofah and some bubble bath.

“You were?” Bess sighed as she felt the hot water relax her and her lover's scrubbing take the layers of dirt and sweat off her skin, “What did she have to say for herself...and why couldn't she say it to my face?”

“Oh it just sort of came up in conversation,” Marion stopped scrubbing as she searched for the soap while at the same time making the Queen cry out in surprise a couple of times.

“Vixen!” joked the Queen as Marion fumbled around in the bath water for the soap.

“She's thinking that she'll have to march north again soon,” Marion explained, “Although the Queen of Scots hasn't been sending her regulars south she hasn't exactly been rushing to try and stop her Highlanders and their demon friends from raiding into England.”

“I know,” Bess agreed quietly, she'd read the reports, “Berwick-upon-Tweed is more or less cut off and York has been attacked.”

“We need to get this war finished with,” Marion said as she rubbed soap over the Queen's breasts and felt her nipples grow hard under her hand.

“Oh yes...” sighed the Queen as she lay back in the bath and let Marion really get to work making sure that her breasts would be clean enough to eat off; shaking her head as if to clear it of all the thoughts that had nothing to do with the present national emergency, the Queen cleared her throat before speaking again. “Yes we must get this war over, which is why I've decided to move on Windsor before the end of the week.”

“You have?” Marion halted her scrubbing duties for a moment.

“I have,” nodded the Queen before adding, “and you can keep doing what you were doing, I didn't say to stop.”

“Of course,” Marion applied soap and the loofah to the Queen's body with renewed vigour.

“I will march the army on towards Windsor and force Queen Diana to move her army to defend her capital,” Bess explained, “I'll force her to fight one big battle and defeat her...we'll be in Windsor Castle before winter and then we can start putting the country back together.”

“Oh goodie!” Marion laughed, “I'm totally fed up of living in a tent!”

“You are?” Bess asked before grabbing hold of Marion and pulled her into the bath with her.

“AAGH!” Marion cried as she laughed and splashed about in surprise, “I hope the baths in Windsor Castle are big enough for two!”

“If they're not,” Bess said as she held a sopping wet Marion close, “I'll have them replaced with bigger ones.”

As the Queen got down to the serious business of kissing Marion and trying to pull off her wet night gown she didn't notice the sound of ripping canvas until the vampire was already in her bedchamber.

“AAAAGH!” screamed Marion on seeing the bloodsucker, “GUARDS! GUARDS!”

Jumping from her bath the Queen looked around for a stake, as usual there was never a piece of sharpened wood around when you really needed one.

“HELP! HELP!” Cried Marion, “A RESCUE... **VAMPIRES!** ”

The creature in question leapt at the Queen leading with her fangs. The Queen although naked as the day she was born, met the vampire's attack with a punch to the vile creature's face. The bloodsucker fell to the ground, but although everyone had clearly heard the vampire's nose break she jumped back to her feet and continued her attack. This time the creature of the night avoided the Queen's blows and managed to grapple with her. However, as the Queen was wet and covered in soap she easily slipped from the monster's grasp and kicked the fiend in the stomach sending her stumbling across the chamber.

“WHERE ARE THOSE BLOODY GUARDS!?” Lady Marion yelled, “THE QUEEN'S BEING ATTACKED HERE!”

Once again the vampire recovered and renewed her attack on the Queen and once again the Queen fought her off and sent her reeling.

“A STAKE! A STAKE” cried the Queen as she looked down at Marion and held out her hand, “MY REALM FOR SOMETHING SHARP AND WOODEN...HURRY!”

“Oh bloody hell!” Marion muttered angrily as she started to turn the chamber upside down looking for something, anything, sharp and wooden...even a pencil would do.

“Majesty!” Lady Blackadder appeared in the doorway to the Queen's bedchamber, she held a wooden bladed sword in her hand, “HERE!” she cried as she tossed the Queen her weapon.

This time when the Vampire attacked she impaled herself on the end of the Queen's sword and turned to ash.

“Thank The Lady,” gasped Marion, “and thank-you Lady Blackadder.”

“Agreed,” the Queen said as she looked around for something to wear, it was only then that she noticed the yells and gunshots from outside, “What in the hellmouth is going on?”

“Majesty,” Lady Blackadder ignored the fact that her Queen was stark naked and how the wet nightgown being worn by the Lady Marion had turned very see-through, and began her report, “The enemy must have sent a Forlorn Hope of demons and assassins to infiltrated the camp, the attempt was probably to cover the attack on yourself and the Lady Marion.”

“Damn that bitch to the hellmouth,” Bess snarled, “doesn't she know that commanders have better things to do than try to kill each other?”

“I don't know Ma'am,” Lady Blackadder replied with a shrug; one thing was for sure she'd never seen the Queen look quite so angry before and it was starting to turn her on.

“That slut Diana,” the Queen continued, “she might be my sister but I'll have her head on a pike for this...not for attacking me you understand,” Bess looked from Blackadder to Marion and back again, “but for all the brave Englishwomen she's caused to be killed or maimed, for threatening the life of the woman I love and I suspect paying the Scots to attack her own country.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lady Blackadder agreed.

“And me,” called Lady Marion, “and don't forget all the Frenchies she's invited into the country.”

“And that,” the Queen nodded before turning to face Lady Blackadder again, “General Officer's call right after breakfast, I want to be moving on Windsor by tomorrow afternoon!”

0=0=0=0

Highlight and right click.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oblF9EqE9RA


	17. Chapter 17

**A Wood near Windsor, Night Time.**

Sitting astride his horse, Giles watched as another regiment marched towards him. Only that morning the Queen had held a council of all her senior officers to explain to them how she intended to capture Windsor and destroy the False Queen's army. By lunch time the Queen's army had been on the march and Giles and a number of his scouts had been sent on ahead to look for a good battle site which they'd found easily enough. By the time the vanguard of the Queen's army had caught up with Giles and the scouts, day was turning into night, it would be full dark before the bulk of the army would arrive.

The darkness was good because it hid the Queen's movements from the enemy's spies. However it made Giles' job harder because he had to find bivouacs for the Queen's soldiers in the dark. He'd also need to make sure that food could be brought to the soldiers so they would have a hot meal inside them before the battle started the next day. There was a lot to be done all under the eyes and ears of the False Queen's generals. Hopefully the False Queen's forces would hear the Queen's army approach but be unsure exactly where they were so they would have to deploy around dawn while the Queen's army would already be in position.

“Follow this track,” Giles called as he gestured along the track to the officers at the head of the column, “and a guide will lead you to your camping ground.”

Sitting there as he watched the soldiers march by, Giles smiled to himself. Although everything had been done in a rush, moving the army had turned out to be easier than he'd thought. After all the Queen's army had been camped within five miles of Windsor. However, although it'd only taken the individual units about two hours to cover the distance (the roads were in pretty good repair and dry) the army as a whole took hours to move to its new location. Another thing that took time was that apart from scouts the first troops to move were Giles' quartermasters who needed to be in place before the arrival of the main army. So, it was behind a screen of cooks, clerks and quartermaster sergeants that the Queen's army advanced.

Watching as the troops marched by his position, Giles noted how the soldiers appeared to be in good spirits. They looked confident and cheerful, how long these feeling would last once they saw the enemy was anyone's guess.

“Gotta admit, Giles,” said the familiar voice from beside him, “you've done a pretty good job of organising this rabble...of course it won't help none because the Queen's army is gonna walk right over you tomorrow.”

Turning to his right Giles saw The First in the guise of Buffy sitting on a horse beside him.

“Ever thought about getting a new act?” Giles asked, “Because this one is just old material...as the real Buffy would have said, 'the same old, same old'.”

“But why?” The first scoffed, “You people fall for the same old lines again and again...you're all so predictable.”

“Not this time,” Giles replied angrily, “this time it'll be different.”

“Yeah,” The First sneered, “like that's going to happen...so what's the plan?”

“You think I'd tell you?”

“No,” Buffy/First shrugged, “but I had to ask just in case.”

“Why don't you just piss off,” Giles snapped he was getting really sick and tired of The First's mocking tones.

“Maybe I will,” Buffy/First turned her horse's head away from Giles and made as if she/it were going to ride off, “Maybe I won't.”

“What now?” Giles sighed heavily.

“I could make you a deal...” The First hinted.

“A deal?” Giles laughed loudly startling his horse and making some of the marching soldiers look at him oddly, “What could you possibly offer me?”

“Buffy...”

“BUFFY!?” Giles cried causing his horse to shake its head nervously, “But she's dead...she died under Sunnydale High, how...” Giles closed his mouth with a snap this was obviously one of The First's tricks, “...Buffy's dead and I refuse to fall for one of your parlour tricks.”

“No,” the First replied nonchalantly, “your slayer is alive and well, but of course that could change.”

“I don't believe you,” Giles did his best to ignore The First but the thought that Buffy might be alive somewhere was making it hard for him to think straight; which of course was exactly what The First wanted.

“Your belief doesn't matter,” Buffy/First explained, “but the truth is that she's living in Santa Maria in California...of course they don't call it by those names any more. But, she's alive and well and living with a slut of a saloon girl...you could go see,” The First tempted quietly, “I could arrange it if you just do one little thing for me...”

“What could I possibly do for you?” Giles asked; he didn't really care because he knew The First was lying, this was nothing but a rather transparent trick.

“All you have to do is slip that fancy sword of yours between, Good Queen Bess' ribs and kill her for me. Do that for me and you could be saying hello to dear, sweet, Buffy within minutes!”

“Piss off!” Giles snapped angrily, “I don't believe you and even if I did I'd never kill the Queen...”

“Whatever,” Buffy/First shrugged as she turned her horse away and started on down the track, “you can't say I never offered...”

Turning his head to watch Buffy/First ride away Giles was just in time to see The First and its horse vanish after tuning itself and its mount inside-out.

“Show off,” Giles muttered under his breath.

0=0=0=0

**Near Windsor the following morning.**

“Well there we are,” Queen Bess gestured towards Windsor castle as it slowly appeared out off the early morning mist.

“And there they are,” Giles nodded towards the False Queen's regiments where they were formed up on the slight rise before them.

“True,” admitted the Queen as she studied the lines of enemy troops through her telescope.

“I thought we were going to surprise them with a dawn attack,” Giles observed as he too looked along the lines of white and red coated soldiers.

“Yes that would have been nice, Sir Rupert,” the Queen glanced over her shoulder to where the rest of her officers sat on their horses, “but this will do nicely too.”

“How so?” Giles frowned; “I'm no expert but wouldn't it have been better to have fallen on the enemy while they were still in camp?”

“Well,” the Queen grinned at Giles as if she was all of fifteen again, “deep down I knew this army wouldn't be capable of launching a dawn attack straight from its own camp. Although if the opportunity had presented itself I'd have grabbed it with both hands.”

“Yes I can see that,” Giles nodded, “but what do we do now the enemy are deployed and is standing around waiting for us to attack. What have we gained by rushing here?”

“Ah...” the Queen's smile grew wider, “...while my army has been getting a few hours sleep and has had a hot breakfast...well done on that Sir Rupert by the way...”

“It was nothing...” Giles replied modestly.

“No its important,” the Queen replied, “odd little things like starting the day with a good, hot bowl of Weetabix could win us the battle.”

“As you were saying, your Majesty,” Giles was unused to being praised for his hard work.

“Yes, while our girls were having a rest and a hot meal,” Bess pointed to the enemy, “they were marching and counter-marching through the wee small hours not sure of our location and I think I'm right in saying that _they_ haven't eaten since yesterday evening maybe even longer.”

“Ah-ha!” Giles exclaimed, “I see...while we're rested and full they're tired and hungry.”

“Exactly,” the Queen nodded, “would you want to fight for a Queen that either isn't yours or you're not too sure is the right woman for the job?”

“I doubt it,” Giles agreed.

“So,” the Queen looked up at the sun which was still low in the sky, “lets leave them there awhile and let their empty stomachs gnaw at them, eh?”

“So when do we attack?” Giles wanted to know.

“We'll give it a couple of hours,” the Queen said glancing from the sun to the enemy's lines and back again, “do me a little service, Sir Rupert?”

“Of course your Majesty, you know I'm yours to command.”

“First,” the Queen reached out to hold Giles' hand, “if this all turns to rat shit...make sure that Marion gets away.” the Queen looked pleadingly at Giles, “Take her to Ireland you should both be safe there...”

“Of course, your Majesty, but it won't be necessary because we're going to win today,” Giles explained.

“Well,” the Queen shrugged, “just in case.”

“And the other?”

“Go tell our girls to sit down,” the Queen gestured to the woods behind her where the army was hidden, “I don't want them tired before we begin.”

“Of course!” Giles turned his horse but was stopped by the Queen's voice before he could gallop off.

“Good luck, Sir Rupert!” 

“And to you, your Majesty!” Giles cried before riding off.

“Lady Blackadder!” called the Queen.

“Ma'am!” Blackadder rode her pitch back warhorse forward and came to a halt next to the Queen.

“I want to keep the number of English casualties to a minimum, Blackie,” the Queen pointed to the enemy lines, “and I include those Englishwomen who are fighting for my sister.”

“I see, Ma'am,” Blackadder replied uncertainly, “but how?”

“You see my sister's generals have deployed most of her English troops on our right,” Bess pointed out the red coated soldiers to her friend, “a bad move and one we should take full advantage of...”

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Blackadder, “she should have placed her English troops amongst her French that way her French troops could keep her unreliable English soldiers in place!”

“Exactly,” smiled the Queen, “now a little bird has told me that if the English in my sister's army were given an _excuse_ they'd take no part in the battle.”

“You're sure Bess?” Edwina asked her friend quietly.

“Sure enough to give it a go, Blackie,” the Queen replied in a low voice, “which is why I want you to give them an excuse to run away.”

“Of course,” Blackadder nodded.

“Once you've done that I'll attack the French with the rest of the army,” the Queen gestured to the white coated French, “you'll notice that I've placed our best trained and equipped troops facing the French.”

“Indeed,” Blackadder nodded, “but what happens if the English troops don't fall in with your plan, Majesty?”

“Then we'll all be most royally fecked, won't we?” laughed the Queen, “We can only fight one major battle so its got to be decided here and now.”

“Or we'll be swimming for Ireland...”

“Or dead.”

“So what do I tell the English girls out there,” Blackadder gestured towards the enemy army.

“This...” the Queen moved her horse closer to Blackadder's so she could whisper in her friend's ear.

Laughing loudly, Lady Blackadder turned her horse and galloped off towards the flank.

0=0=0=0

“Message from the Queen,” Giles called to his young Girl Guides mounted on their ponies, “all regiments are to sit down and rest, but they are not to break ranks or stack weapons...no one wonders off, understand?”

There was a chorus of 'Yes Sir Rupert' accompanied by a lot of head nodding before the girls rode off to deliver their message.

“So, this is it?” Joan Little said as she guided her horse over to Giles.

“Indeed,” Giles nodded as he turned so he was once more facing the enemy army.

“How long?” Joan wanted to know.

“Couple of hours.”

“I see...” Joan twisted in her saddle and looked at Polly who was sitting on her own horse a couple of yards away, “...come on Poll we've got a couple of hours to waste!”

Much to Giles' surprise the two women galloped off towards the rear of the army.

“Oh good grief,” Giles sighed as her realised what his two aides were planning on doing to pass the time before the battle started.

0=0=0=0

**The False Queen's Army a couple of hours later.**

Standing in the front rank of a block of pike, Rose Clayworth and April Hollingberry were not happy soldiers. Not only had they been woken up at about midnight the night before but they'd also spent the hours until dawn marching about the countryside near Windsor looking for Queen Elizabeth's army. It had rapidly become obvious to the two soldiers and all there friends that their officers hadn't got a clue what they were doing or where Queen Elizabeth's army was.

Next, to add insult to injury, they'd been told to form up on a slope about a mile from the Castle and their old campsite. If the officers had known what they were doing everyone could have stayed warm and snug in their tents and blankets before getting up at a reasonable hour to have breakfast and still have time to take up positions facing the rebel army. Now their feet were cold and wet plus they'd not had anything to eat since about four o'clock the day before and then that had only been a little bread, cheese and bacon.

“Bloody officers,” Rose muttered angrily; several of her comrades near by muttered in agreement.

“Bloody officers don't know what they're a-doing of,” April added, “Bloody battle should have started hours ago.”

“'old on,” Rose took a firmer grip on her pike as she nodded to where an officer rode out of the woods a couple of hundred yards in front of them, “'ere's some one now...”

“About bloody time,” April grumbled; this was no way to fight a battle and she wasn't even sure she wanted to fight a battle against other Englishwomen, Queen Diana was far too chummy with the French for her liking.

“Hey,” Rose pointed to the rider, “Isn't that Blackie Blackadder?”

“Looks like,” April nodded, “wonder what she wants?”

Everyone knew Lady Blackadder to be a good and brave officer who'd fought in the wars against the France.

0=0=0=0

Riding towards the centre of the English troops, Lady Blackadder half expected to be shot out of her saddle, but much to her surprise and relief she wasn't. Instead she saw the opposing ranks open to allow an officer to ride out and meet her.

“Blackadder,” called the officer as she came to a halt just short of Blackadder.

“Essex,” Lady Blackadder nodded to her old comrade in arms, Lady Helen Leatherby, the Forth Duchess of Essex.

“What price this, eh?” Lady Helen asked with a shrug.

“Indeed,” Blackadder agreed, “I'm sorry for the delay and everything, but my lot wouldn't move until after they'd had their Weetabix, but we're ready to start now...”

0=0=0=0

Standing cold, damp and hungry in their ranks Rose and April turned and looked at each other.

“They've had their Weetabix!?” they exclaimed in chorus.

Soon the call was taken up by the women next to them.

“They've had their Weetabix!?” cried the entire pike block.

The news spread like wild fire, first from company to company and then from regiment to regiment.

“THEY'VE HAD THEIR WEETABIX!?”

As one the pike-women dropped their pikes and turned towards the rear. Officers tried to stop the rearward motion but as soon as they realised that they'd be trampled under foot by their own soldiers, they too joined the retreat.

**“THEY'VE HAD THEIR WEETABIX!?”**

Within moments the entire left flank of Queen Diana's army was heading back towards Windsor in one giant mass of red.

0=0=0=0

Watching over her shoulder, Lady Helen saw her command run off in a huge disorganised mass. Turning to look back at Blackadder she saw Queen Elizabeth's troops start to march from the woods and towards the great gap in the Royal Army's flank.

“Sorry, Helen,” Edwina called softly, “but I'll have to ask you to surrender.”

“Of course,” Lady Helen said sadly as she watched her new Queen's troops march up the slope towards her, she drew her sword and held it hilt first towards Edwina.

After touching the hilt of Lady Helen's sword, Blackadder told her to keep it and put it back in her sheath. Turning to face the on coming soldiers the two officers watched as the lines drew closer.

“Who's the girl with the fiery hair?” called the sergeants of the approaching regiments.

“OUR BESSIE!” replied the rank and file.

“Who's the girl who's born to be queen?” the sergeants asked again.

“OUR BESSIE...”

0=0=0=0

Highlight and right click...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtauzd3KZGI


	18. Chapter 18

**The Battle of Windsor, the Loyalist left Flank.**

Moving forward at a brisk walk, Lady Lankin's Regiment of Foot approached the French on the crest of the rise with bayonets levelled. Throughout the summer the regiment had been rigorously drilled and had fought in several bloody engagements with the False Queen's forces. Now they were probably amongst the best of Queen Elizabeth's 'New' regiments which was why they'd been given such an important place in the battle line. Lankin's Foot were on the far left of the Loyalist line the only thing to their left was a squadron of Heavy Dragoons placed there to protect the flank.

Marching in the centre of Third Company, Sergeant Major Bourne walked next to Ensign Maitland who’d carried the company's colour all through the summer. The number of companies in the regiment had been halved so now the companies had double the number of rank, file and officers. The regiment advanced with three companies in the line and one in reserve. Their job was simple, Lankin's Foot were to march to within fifty yards of the French, halt and then pour volley after volley into the French until they broke. Once the French were running the regiment was to sweep around the end of the French line and fall upon the enemy's flank and rear.

“Dress those ranks!” cried Bourne over the sound of the company drummers who were beating the unit forward, looking down at Ensign Maitland, Bourne noted the scared look on the teenager's face. “Never you fear, Miss Maitland,” Bourne said so only the young officer and herself could hear, “it'll soon be over...close your eyes if you want Miss, I'll make sure you're marching in the right direction.”

“Thank-you Sergeant Major and I do appear to have got smoke in my eyes,” Sarah Maitland closed her eyes and felt the comforting touch of her Sergeant Major's hand on her arm as she was guided towards the French.

After looking left and right to make sure the line was straight, Bourne watched her front. Right in front of her was Captain Thorn who'd taken command of the company after sweet, young, Jenny Wren had been killed in the spring. Thorn was a good, steady officer and Bourne had every confidence that she'd lead the company to victory without getting too many of her girls killed.

“Steady there!” Bourne cried as she noticed a section to her right start to move forward ahead of the rest of the company, “March to the beat of the drums, my bonny red roses...”

Watching her front again Bourne saw that they were about a hundred-and-fifty yards short of the white coated French. Smiling she checked on her red coated girls again and saw that the line was as near straight and level as it was going to be while marching across country. Turning to watch the French again, she was just hoping that the French volleys wouldn't be too bad and kill a lot of her girls when she saw the French come to the 'present'!

“What the feck are they a-playin' at?” Bourne said to no one in particular.

“What's that, Mistress Bourne?” Sarah Maitland asked as she opened her eyes and gasped as she saw how close they were to the French.

“Them daft Frenchies are gonna fire!” Bourne exclaimed before calling to the rest of the company, “STEADY GIRLS, STEADY!”

“Bloody hell!” Sarah Maitland groaned as she saw the French level their muskets.

Flinching as she heard the French volley roll along their line, Ensign Maitland found she was unhurt and the company wasn't a bloody ruin. In fact it seemed that only three or four of her soldiers had been hit and had dropped out of line.

“Damn stupid Frogs wasted their volley,” Bourne announced as she watched the French hurriedly reload, “Buggers can only fire two shots to our three,” she explained, “we'll maybe have to take one more volley before we can fire back.” Listening carefully Bourne heard the Colonel order an increase in pace, “Pick up the beat girls,” Bourne told the drummer girls, “step lively there!”

The three company drummer girls beat on their drums harder and faster as the company quickened their pace. On top of the ridge line the French were frantically ramming home powder and shot before bringing their weapons up into the 'present' once again. Bourne distinctly heard the French officers order 'make ready' and the long 'click' as hundreds of hammers were pulled back to full cock..

“Steady girls!” Bourne cried again, “For what we are about to receive...”

The French 'levelled' and fired in one smooth motion. Their line disappeared in a cloud of thick smoke which filled the air with the stink of sulphur. This time when the French bullets struck home a good dozen or more Englishwomen fell; some screaming while others fell silently.

“STEADY!” Bourne roared over the cries of the wounded and the beating of the drums, “STEADY THERE! CLOSE RANKS! CLOSE RANKS!” Checking that Sarah Maitland was still on her feet, Bourne grinned when she saw the young officer clutching her colours and advancing with her eyes screwed shut, “That's the way, Miss Maitland, a little noise and smoke never a-feared a good Englishwoman!”

“I'm half Irish!” Maitland cried nervously in reply.

“Goes double for the 'boggies'!” Bourne laughed.

Rapidly closing the distance with the French line, Bourne realised that they'd get into position before the French had finished loading.

“Now we've got 'em!” she called out with blood thirsty relish and the soldiers around her gave a cheer which was swiftly taken up by the rest of the regiment.

A little startled by the cheer given by the advancing English, the French hesitated for a moment as they loaded, after firing two volleys into the red coats they were surprised to find their opponents so close and still coming on. Individual Frenchwomen tried to load faster, some even fired without being ordered.

“Regiment HALT!” cried the Regimental Sergeant Major as she passed on the Colonel's orders.

“COMPANY HALT!” cried Captain Thorn from the head of the company; the company came to a disciplined halt as the drummer girls stopped their marching beat and changed to a long drum roll.

“PRESENT!” almost two hundred muskets came up into position, “MAKE READY...” a ragged French volley sputtered from their line hitting maybe half a dozen of the third company, “...LEVEL!”

Once again some of the French were trying to reload while others fired wildly aimed shots at the English who stood like a red wall only fifty yards away.

“ **FIRE!** ” smoke and flame vomited from the English line to smash into the French cutting their front rank down in a welter of blood and smashed bone.

“RELOAD!” English soldiers grounded the butts of their muskets; as the ground was fairly firm the soldiers 'tap loaded' reducing the time to reload by almost a third.

“PRESENT!” called Captain Thorn, her voice clear and steady, “MAKE READY! LEVEL! **FIRE!** ”

Bourne smiled with pride as she heard her company fire seconds before any of the other companies.

“AIM FOR THEIR BELLIES ME-GIRLS!” Bourne roared, “POUR IT ON, LOAD AND FIRE!”

Once again the English volley lashed the French line and more French fell to the ground their white coats stained with red blood.

“MAKE READY...LEVEL... **FIRE!** ” Captain Thorn ordered as the company loaded and fired like a clockwork machine.

“THAT'S THE WAY, LADIES!” Sergeant Major Bourne encouraged although how many could hear her over the noise of the almost continual firing was uncertain.

Each company was loading and firing as quickly as it could, in fact the English propensity for playing games had caused the women of each company to try and out shoot their comrades. Even through the clouds of powder smoke it was obvious that the French were beginning to give way, already some were heading to the rear under the guise of helping the wounded from the field.

“Fi...” Captain Thorn's order was cut off as a French musket ball hit her in the face and almost blew her head clean off.

“FIRE!” Bourne yelled, “Come on Miss Maitland,” Bourne dragged the girl and her colour forward, “Time to make a name for y'self!”

“Of course,” Sarah Maitland pulled her arm from Bourne's grip and marched forward to take her Captain's place, glancing behind her she saw that the company was almost ready to fire their fourth volley, “Make Ready!” she squeaked as her voice cracked.

“Let me,” grinned the veteran Sergeant Major, “MAKE READY! LEVEL! **FIRE!** ”

“Thank-you, Mistress Bourne,” Sarah called as she lifted the colour ready for the next order the Colonel would give.

“Four rounds!” Bourne cheered, “I counted 'em...four rounds a minute!”

“Advance bayonets!” came the order from the centre of the line.

“ADVANCE BAYONETS!” Sarah Maitland repeated as she lifted the colours and wished she had a hand free so she could draw her sword.

“Don't you worry Miss,” Bourne told her as she brought her own bayoneted musket around to point at the French, “I'll look after ye!”

“CHARGE!” sword in hand the Colonel ran towards the ragged French line.

“CHARGE!” Maitland and Bourne took up the cry as they followed their colonel forward.

“HUZZAH!” yelled the company as they followed the colours forward.

In the French lines officers tried to pull and push soldiers into the bloody holes torn by the English volleys. Some soldiers stood and fired one last shot before they rammed their plug bayonets into the muzzles of their muskets. Unlike the English 'ring' bayonets, once the French had fixed their plug bayonets they couldn't fire. While some Frenchwomen made ready to face the screaming English, others fell back and some simply turned and ran throwing away their weapons so they could run faster. The English line hit the French much like a blacksmith's hammer hitting an egg. What Frenchwomen there were who stood to fight were bowled over, bayoneted and trampled under foot.

“THAT'S THE WAY TO DO IT!” screamed Bourne as she bayoneted a French officer who was aiming a pistol at Miss Maitland.

“THANK-YOU SERGEANT MAJOR!” Sarah Maitland cried as she used the spike on the butt end of her colour staff to pin a Frenchwoman to the ground.

“STEADY THERE!” Bourne cried out as she noticed there were no more French left to fight.

“RALLY ON THE COLOUR!” Sarah Maitland cried, “RALLY, I SAY! RALLY!”

Slowly the English soldiers got a grip on their blood lust and started to form ranks around the company colours.

“Who's in command here?” cried Major Ward the regimental second in command as she ran towards where third company's colours flapped in the smoky breeze.

Looking left and right, Sarah Maitland saw that she was the highest ranking officer left alive in the company.

“I am, Ma'am,” she piped.

“Well done!” Major Ward came and clapped her on the shoulder, before passing on the colonel's orders, “Colonel Lankin's wounded but she wants you to swing to the right and take the Frenchies in the flank, understand?”

“MA'AM!” Maitland called as she snapped to attention, “Right form and roll up the Frogs, yes Ma'am.”

“Jolly good show, _Leftenant_!” the Major waved before running off to organise the rest of the regiment.

“Leftenant is it!?” Bourne laughed, “I'll have to be careful what I say around you now!”

“Indeed you will, Sergeant Major,” Sarah Maitland seemed to grow in stature as she gripped the colours more firmly, “Alright Sergeant Major lets win this battle...COMPANY RIGHT FORM!”

Third company changed its facing by ninety degrees with parade ground precision.

“LOAD!” ramrods flashed in the smoky sun as powder and shot were rammed home and muskets were primed.

“BY THE CENTRE!” Sarah Maitland lifted the colours ready to advance, “QUICK MARCH!”

0=0=0=0

**The Battle of Windsor, the Loyalist Right Flank.**

Eyeing the troop of French heavy cavalry about two hundred yards away, Lady Blackadder was beginning to wonder if she was going to have to fight them all by herself. Although the False Queen's English units in this part of the field had suddenly remembered appointments else where and had left the battlefield, there were still a lot of French around and she was standing there with no visible means of support! Over to her left the Queen's forces and the French were exchanging volley's that filled the air with choking, evil smelling smoke. So far it was unclear who would win the day. Watching the French horse once more, Blackadder noticed that they appeared to be readying themselves for a charge.

“HAL-LOOOOOO!”

Turning at the sound of the familiar call, Blackadder saw the welcoming sight of Erin O'Keeffe on her horse trotting at the head of a battalion of the Queen's Irish Volunteers.

“By the Lady I'm glad to see you Erin!” Blackadder cried in relief.

“I knew if I left you alone you'd get y'self into trouble, M'Lady,” Erin cried relieved to see her friend and Mistress still alive, “so, what's occurring?”

“Frog horse,” Blackadder pointed at the enemy cavalry.

“I see 'em,” Erin called back happily, “MAJOR!” an Irish officer came forward her kilt flying about her knees as she ran, “Enemy horse!”

“Aye, I see 'em!” replied the Major as she came to a halt and turned to her soldiers, “ULLMHU MARCA A FHAIL!” ('Prepare to receive horse/cavalry!')

“I think we should move M'Lady,” Erin said quietly as the French started to trot towards the Irish troops.

“I think you're right,” Blackadder steered her horse over to the Irish.

Ramming the butts of their weapons into the earth, the Irish troops made a solid line of pike points while their supporting bow-women and musketeers formed up on either side of the pike block. As the French rode into range the bows snapped shafts at them bringing down a few of the French riders and forcing more out of the ranks as arrows hit horses and the creatures started to buck. At about fifty yards the muskets fired as the bow-women got off a couple of more shafts. The front rank of the French cavalry came to a bloody halt as horse and rider fell, while other horses bucked and disorganised the ranks of the formation. With a yell the Irish picked up their pikes and advanced on the disorganised French. Horses and their riders screamed as the Irish thrust their pikes into the confused mass. As the pikes struck home the musketeers and bow-women ran around the French flanks to shoot into the seething mass of fresh and bone. Riders fell from the backs of their panicking horses while those riders at the rear who were as yet unengaged turned their beasts to the rear and rode off in defeat. Pushing forward the Irish pike over threw the last few French who were willing to stand and fight.

“Athchóiriú! Railí! Dún céimeanna!” ('Reform! Rally! Close ranks!') cried the Irish officers as they pushed their troops back into ranks; the Irish were brave soldiers, but they were even worse than the English for chasing off after a defeated foe unless discipline was firmly enforced.

“Where to now, M'Lady?” the Irish Major asked Blackadder as her officers dressed the ranks behind her.

Trotting her horse to the front of the formation, Lady Blackadder surveyed the field. In the time it had taken the volunteers to beat the French horse it seemed that the English regiments had gained the upper hand and were slowly forcing the French into retreat. A good shove from an unexpected direction would probably turn an orderly withdrawal into a rout. Looking back down the slope, Blackadder saw fresh English troops marching towards her, they might not be the best armed or trained soldiers in the Queen's army but if they were to appear unexpectedly...

“Erin!” Blackadder called.

“M'Lady!”

“Go tell those troops to head for Windsor,” she pointed down slope at the lead English units, “they're not to stop until they get to the castle, understand?”

“Yes, M'Lady.”

“Then grab the rest of the Irish and the best English Regiment you can find and send them to follow me!”

“And where will you be, M'Lady?” Erin asked already knowing the answer.

“That-a-way!” Blackadder pointed to were the English and French still exchanged volleys, “Where the fighting is thickest!”

After watching for a moment as Erin galloped off to pass on her orders, Lady Blackadder rode to put herself at the head of the Irishwomen.

“Well, my lucky girls!” Blackadder called, “Looks like we've another battle to win!” she drew her sword and pointed it in the direction she wanted to go, “An bhean d'Éirinn!” ('The Lady for Ireland') she cried, “HAL-LOOO!”

“HAL-LOOOO!” the shout sounded like wolves baying as the Irish soldiers stepped off to follow Lady Blackadder into history.

0=0=0=0

**The Battle of Windsor, Early Evening.**

Giles had ridden forward with Joan and Polly to oversee the collection of the wounded and the disposal of the dead. The Queen had won and the French had surrendered when they'd discovered that Queen Diana had deserted them in an attempt to save herself. Queen Elizabeth had promised the French free passage back to France for all except for those accused of war crimes. Realising this was the best offer that they were going to get General Picard had surrendered her army.

Looking over the battlefield, Giles noted the lines of red and white coated soldiers lying in the grass. His own commissary troops some French prisoners and troops detached from the victorious English and Irish regiments moved about the field carrying the wounded to the surgeons, while others moved the dead into neat lines to be counted and if possible identified.

The soldiers taken to the surgeons had a better chance of survival than the soldiers who'd fought with musket and pike in Giles' past. At least in the here and now doctors were aware of germs and knew the importance of keeping wounds clean. There were even some effective antiseptics and pain killers although those were always in short supply. But Giles consoled himself with the knowledge that once a wounded soldier got to a surgeon she had about a three in four chance of survival. Turning in his saddle at the sound of hoof beats galloping up behind him, Giles saw a messenger at the head of a troop of the Queen's Lifeguards.

“What does the Queen want now?” Joan muttered under her breath; as far as she was concerned it was time to see what could be found in the pockets of the dead and not quite dead, and not be running around at the beck and call of the Queen.

“We'll soon find out,” Giles replied as the courier rode up to him.

“Sir Rupert,” the young girl at the head of the cavalry doffed her hat as she came to a halt in front of Giles, “The Queen's compliments...her Majesty requests that you take these troops and follow the traitor Queen who is believed to be trying to escape to Tilbury and hence to France.”

“Me?” Giles gasped, surely this was a job for a combat officer.

“Yes Sir Rupert,” the courier replied, “The Queen says you're the only truly reliable senior officer she has left that isn't dead or otherwise engaged...I have maps and I'm to go with you as guide, Sir.”

“You are?” Giles took off his glasses and massaged his nose, “Oh well we better be getting on...” he turned to Joan and Polly, “...you two better stay here, I'll...”

“Oh no 'e don't!” Polly cried, “We're coming with 'e.”

“Aye, Poll's right,” Joan agreed reluctantly, “If we was to let ye ride off on some silly wild goose chase and got y'sel killed...why the Queen would have our heads!” 

“Oh, well,” Giles sighed heavily, “we'd better get on!”

0=0=0=0


	19. Chapter 19

**The Road from Windsor to Tilbury, late Evening.**

Riding at the head of the Queen's troop of cavalry, Giles cut across the battlefield until he came to a road running east-west just south of the Thames. Turning onto the road Giles lead his small force towards what had once been London. The Queen had sent another messenger after Giles to tell him that Queen Diana was heading for Tilbury in a coach with a small escort of cavalry and was believed to only be a few miles ahead of Giles and his soldiers.

If the False Queen was riding in a coach she'd need to use what passed for main roads in this time and place. Ensign Kim, the Queen's original courier took out the maps she'd been given and pointed out the likely route Diana would take. Studying the map for a moment, Giles noted that the main road into and through the ruins of London followed the course of the old M4 motorway. Leading his riders on, Giles noticed how the sun was sinking behind him as they rode east. He was beginning to doubt that they'd catch Diana before night fell and they had to halt for the night. However, Giles and his escort hadn't gone more than a few miles, in fact Giles thought they'd probably reached the point where Brentford had once stood when they discovered a coach missing a wheel and half in the ditch at the side of the road.

“Halt!” Giles held up his hand as he reined in his horse, “Leftenant Grey...” he called and turned to see the young officer ride over to stand next to him.

“Sir Rupert?” the young officer asked nervously, she wasn't used to Guys that could talk let alone ones that could think and give orders.

“Do your troopers have firearms?” Giles asked as he studied the seemingly abandoned coach.

“Yes Sir Rupert, they do,” Grey replied as she tried to keep herself just out of reach of Giles.

“Well may I suggest that they get them out and that everyone dismounts, I don't want to ride blindly into an ambush here,” Giles explained as he gestured towards the abandoned coach.

Just for a moment Grey thought about telling this upstart Guy to go to the Hellmouth, no mere 'Guy' was going to tell her how to handle her troop, but then she remembered that the Queen trusted this...this strange creature, so perhaps...

“Yes,” Grey nodded her head, “perhaps you're right...”

Turning away from Giles, Grey ordered her troopers to draw carbines and dismount. Horse holders lead the horses to the rear while the other troopers checked that the priming powder in their carbines hadn't got wet or been shaken loose while they'd been riding.

“So what do ye reckon?” Joan Little asked as she and Polly came to stand next to Giles as he gazed along the road at the deserted coach.

“Well,” Giles signed as he pulled his pistols from the holsters on his saddle before one of the troopers led his mount away, “like they say in all the best westerns, 'its quiet...too quiet'.”

“Eh?” Joan and Polly replied mystified by Giles' words.

“Never mind I'll explain later,” Giles gestured towards the coach-wreck, “come on lets see what's happened here.”

Spreading out across the road the little party advanced on the apparently deserted coach. As he got nearer the crash site, Giles saw how the coach must have lost a wheel causing it to crash, there was a long, deep, furrow cut into the surface of the road by the axle. Holding up her hand, Leftenant Grey brought the party to a halt as she ordered three of her troopers forward to check the area for anyone hiding and waiting to ambush them.

Finding himself pushed into the drainage ditch at the side of the road by Joan, Giles watched as the three troopers cautiously moved along the road until they came to the coach. After a quick examination of the crash site and a cursory search of the hedge and nearby trees the corporal in charge of the patrol waved the rest of the party forward. Still flanked by Joan and Polly, Giles clambered out of the ditch and trotted along the road behind Leftenant Grey and the rest of the patrol.

“Report, Corporal,” Giles called as he arrived at the coach; the corporal glanced at her officer as if asking if she should answer the strange Guy.

“Carry on Corporal Jupp,” Grey ordered.

“Right you are, Ma'am,” Jupp turned uncertainly to address Giles, “Erm...Sir...” Corporal Jupp appeared to notice the giantess that was Joan Little for the first time as she stood protectively near Giles and decided that maybe just this once she'd treat this odd Guy like a real person. “No one in the coach, but there's a couple of bodies over there,” Jupp jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of two dead women lying in the ditch, “look like grooms to me, ma'..sorry Sir. One horse dead and the others gone, no sign of any traitor queens or anything.”

“Well done Corporal,” Leftenant Grey gestured for the corporal and her troopers to join the rest of the troop in securing the area, “What now Sir Rupert?” she asked, “It'll be dark soon and...”

“Indeed,” Giles agreed as he studied the ground, “a lot of hoof marks here,” Giles pointed out.

“The Traitor Queen probably rode off on one of the coach horses with her escort,” Grey pointed out; she was of the opinion that they should camp while it was still light and start out first thing in the morning.

“Over 'ere!” Polly called from the ditch beside the coach, “Tracks!”

Rushing around the coach, Giles looked where Polly was pointing.

“CORPORAL JUPP!” Grey yelled, “Did you or any of your women come around here?” she indicated the side of the ditch in which the coach was resting.

“No Ma'am!” came the reply.

“Then I'd suggest that not everyone rode away from here,” Giles examined the clues, “We have two grooms shot dead, tracks leading off into these trees...” Giles glanced up at the officer, “...did anyone happen to say who the escort were?”

“No...” Grey shook her head slowly, “...but I'd guess they were Frenchies.”

“So,” Giles lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his long hair, “Diana has an escort who have no real desire to see her to safety...”

“I think I see where you're going with this,” Grey looked at Giles with respect for the first time, “You're thinking that the wheel came off the coach and the Frenchies saw a perfect opportunity to dump Diana and head for the closest port without being slowed down by a heavy coach.”

“Exactly,” Giles nodded, “and as we haven't found her yet,” he gestured to the hedge and trees next to the road, “I think we'll find her or her body somewhere around here.”

“What if she ran off across country?” Grey asked as she waved forward some of her troopers.

“Do you really believe she'd do that?” Giles wanted to know, “I mean from what I've been told she's a bit of a spoiled brat and not the sort of person who'd walk across muddy fields under any circumstances.”

“You could be right, Sir Rupert,” Grey agreed, “anyway its too late to ride on so we might as well search this wood.”

“Indeed,” Giles nodded as he pulled a pistol from the sash around his waist and cocked it, “alive if we can, dead if we must, those were the Queen's orders.”

“Follow the Guy,” Grey ordered her troopers before realising what she'd just said, she looked at Giles with horror on her face, “Sorry Sir Rupert.”

“Oh I'm used to it by now,” Giles shrugged before pushing himself through the hedge and into the road side wood, “Joan, Polly, with me.”

“Right behind 'e, Sir Rupert,” Polly replied giving the young officer a pointed look as she moved to join Giles; Joan growled softly at the officer as she passed her by.

Inside the wood it was pretty dark even though it wasn't a very big or thick wood. Here and there there were crumbling lumps of concrete sticking out of the earth a last few reminders of the building that had stood there over six hundred years in the past. Transferring his pistol to his left hand, Giles drew his sword and used it to cut back some brambles which were blocking his path. As he took a swipe at one particularly stubborn bramble he felt Joan's large hand on his shoulder.

“Shhh!” she said softly in his ear.

“What?” Giles whispered back only to see Joan point upwards into the branches of the tree closest to them; looking up Giles thought he saw something very un-tree-like in amongst the foliage above his head. 

“Someone bring a light!” Joan called loudly while above her the 'thing' moved causing foliage and twigs to rain down on those below.

“Go away you rotters!” cried an upper class voice from above.

“Princess Diana?” Giles called as he pointed his sword and pistol upwards.

“That's _Queen_ Diana to you, you rotten, beastly, little oik!”

“Whatever,” Giles shrugged as Grey and her troopers congregated around Giles, Polly and Joan bringing roughly made torches with them. “Princess Diana,” Giles said rather formally, “who claims to be Queen, I'm here under orders of the true queen, Queen Elizabeth to arrest you on charges of treason and tyranny.”

“Feck off you rotters,” Diana called down, “I'm the real Queen and I'm ordering you to piss off!”

“You're in no position to order anyone to do anything, my girl...” Giles replied only to have a small stick thrown at him.

“Get lost you filthy, agricultural labourer,” Diana cried as she threw a hand full of nuts at Giles, “just who in the Hellmouth do you think you are to order me about?”

“I'm Quartermaster General Sir Rupert Giles, one of her majesty's trusted advisers, now I'm ordering you to climb down out of that tree and...”

“NO!” came the petulant reply, “A mere Quartermaster General can't give orders to a Queen.”

“Look, you'll have to come down eventually,” Giles pointed out reasonably, “you can't stay up there forever.”

“Like to bet?” snapped Diana, “And what sort of bloody stupid name is 'Sir Rupert', sounds foreign to me.”

“That's a bit rich coming from a Frog lover like 'erself,” Joan pointed out.

“I HEARD THAT!” Diana screamed, “At least French girls don't smell all sweaty like English girls do!”

“I must say I rather prefer the more earthy, natural, odour of English girls to the overly perfumed French flossies,” Giles pointed out only to get frowns from his companions, “Well,” he shrugged, “it has to be said...”

“'E's right y'know,” Joan pointed out, “it 'as to be said, an' I've always found French girls to be too skinny by 'arf an' they all smell of garlic.”

“Permission to shoot her out of the tree, Sir Rupert?” Grey asked ignoring Joan's comment.

“Erm...” Giles glanced at the Leftenant and then back up at the 'tree princess', “I'd rather we take her back a live Princess to put on trial than a dead princess that we can only bury.”

“We could cut down the tree, Ma'am, Sir,” suggested Corporal Jupp, “we've got a couple of axes somewhere.”

“Hmmm...” Giles considered the idea, “...better than shooting her I suppose...”

“I could climb up and grab 'er,” volunteered Joan, “I mean I'm nearly seven foot tall and she's what?”

“About five foot five or six,” Grey replied.

“There you are, Sir Rupert,” Joan grinned down at her master, “I could nip up there, grab 'er an' have 'er down 'ear in 'arf a jiffy.”

“Well I don't know,” Giles pondered the problem for a few seconds, “what if she has a couple of pistols up there? Even if you do cost a small fortune to feed, I'd hate to lose you and I expect Polly would be upset too.”

“Aye,” Polly agreed with a firm nod of the head.

“Nah,” Joan shook her head, “if she 'ad pistols up there, she'd 'ave fired 'em off by now,” Joan pointed out.

“Well...” Giles glanced up to where Diana hung from a couple of branches, “...if you think you can get her down...?”

“I'll manage,” Joan grinned, “now someone give me a leg up.”

A couple of troopers stepped forward and after much groaning and heaving managed to get Joan to the first branch; it did make Giles wonder how Diana had got up into the tree unaided.

There was much screaming and yelling as Joan climbed towards the princess but eventually she managed to get hold of one of Diana's legs.

“UNHAND ME YOU BRUTE!” screamed the princess, “I'll have your head for this!” she cried as Joan climbed up the young woman's body and wrapped her great arms around the slim princess' waist. “You swine! You utter, utter bounder!” she cried as she beat small fists ineffectually against Joan's back as she was carried towards the ground, “When my sister finds out what you've...AAAGH!”

“LOOK OUT BELOW!” Joan called as she dropped the princess from the bottom branch, there was a soft 'thump' as Diana crash landed amongst the leaf litter.

“You're all beastly rotters,” Princess Diana groaned just before she was leapt on by the troopers and bound up like a Christmas turkey, “You'll all pay for this!”

“No,” Giles shook his head slowly as he looked down at the captured princess, “I don't think we will, in fact I think Her Majesty will be so pleased that there'll be promotions and pensions for all concerned once we get you back to Windsor.”

“Rotters...” Diana sobbed as she started to appreciate just how bad things looked for her continued survival.

“We might as well camp here,” Giles told Grey, “and head back to Windsor in the morning,” he gestured to Diana, “tie her to a tree or something and put at least two guards on her at all times,” he grinned as he thought of something else, “If she starts to complain you have my permission to gag her, understand?”

“Certainly,” Leftenant Grey grinned back.

Later as Giles was about to roll himself in his blankets and just as he was thinking that he was getting too old for all this adventuring, Buffy/The First came out of the dark and sat down beside him.

“Well,” Buffy grinned down at him, “I've got to admit it, this time you beat me fair and square.”

“As I told you I would,” Giles pointed out as he tried to get comfortable.

“Yeah, well you might have won the war,” Buffy pointed out, “but can you win the peace?”

“Of course,” Giles replied firmly, “now if you don't mind pissing off and gloating somewhere else, mind-you I don't see what you've got to gloat about because you lost; I want to get some sleep as I've got to ride back to Windsor tomorrow.”

Rolling over, Giles turned his back on The First and drifted off to sleep.

“You sleep well, Sir Rupert,” The First smirked, “but I'll be sticking around for a little longer, you just see if I don't...”

Turning itself inside out, which appeared to be The First's preferred way of making an exit, The First vanished into the night.

0=0=0=0

**What happened next.**

 **Princess Diana;** A High Court was convened at Windsor Hall to indite, Diana the First for the crimes of tyranny and treason. Diana was sentenced to death, even though she refused to accept that the court had jurisdiction over her. Wicked Queen Diana laid her head on the block on the morning of September the twelfth, 2689; down came the axe and in the silence that followed the only sound that could be heard was a solitary giggle from...?

 **Queen Elizabeth and Lady Marion the Queen Consort and Queenmother;** Elizabeth and Marion were married in a ceremony held in the chapel of Windsor Castle a month after The Battle of Windsor. Queen Elizabeth is remembered as a wise and just queen who sponsored the building of schools, universities and hospitals throughout her realm. Her armies captured all of the French Channel Ports and forced the Queen of Scots to sign a Peace Treaty there by freeing England from the threat of invasion for a generation or more. By encouraging trade and exploration she was also instrumental in helping to reunite humanity's scattered communities. By the time she died at the age of seventy-one, Elizabeth had truly won the title of 'Gloriana' bestowed on her by her subjects.

Lady Marion, the Queen Consort, gave birth to five daughters. In time one became Queen Anne of England, another Queen Mary of Ireland while Princess Sarah was invited to be the Queen of Holland. Princess April became the Queen Consort of Margaret Queen of Denmark and Princess Victoria joined the Royal Navy and had a long and successful career as an Admiral.

 **Lady Blackadder;** 'Blackie', as the Queen called her remained the Commander of the Queen's Lifeguard well into her thirties when she went into semi-retirement, got married and retired to her estates in East Anglia; she remained friends with the Queen until the day she died.

 **Sharon and Tracy Much;** lived out their lives running Giles' estates which had been awarded to him by the Queen, while they raised their twelve daughters.

 **Joan and Polly Little;** after leaving Giles' service the two women married before moving to Ireland where they raised horses and children.

 **Captains Ellen Dale and Willow Scarlet;** both rose to high rank serving in the Queen's armies in France. They both eventually married the daughters of high born ladies and retired to their estates in southern England.

 **Sister Tuck;** left England and took up a missionary position in the Queen's American Colonies.

 **Leftenant Maitland;** left the army once the civil war was over. Returning home she took over the running of her mothers' kitchen ware factory and later married her school sweetheart.

Sergeant Major Samantha Bourne; rose to the rank of Regimental Sergeant Major before she died of her wounds after being hit by a French musket ball near Calais in 2691. 

**Quartermaster General Sir Rupert Giles;** Giles remained in the Queen's service until almost the day he died, he was rewarded with estates in Kent but spent most of his time in Windsor the capital. He wrote several books on science and demonology when he wasn't helping to rebuild and reform the country. He never married, but he was often visited by high born ladies who wanted him to sire their children. 

When he died at the age of only sixty-seven, the queen had him buried in the chapel at Windsor Castle. On his headstone the Queen had the following words engraved...

_Here Lies Quartermaster General, Sir Rupert Giles,  
Soldier and Scholar.  
A very Good and a very Gentle Man_

**THE END.**


End file.
